


The Taste of Honey

by Buzzy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-25
Updated: 2011-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 23:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buzzy/pseuds/Buzzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is nothing a parent would not do for their child, even if it means facing their fears, making peace with their enemies, and opening their hearts.  (This was written before the book series was finished, so no camping, no fighting desks, and no epilogue.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: Thanks to eilonwy1 for beta work.

Hermione closed her eyes and thought her goodbyes. Her wand lay on the ground, yards away and the Death Eater facing her was not showing any signs of giving her time to stroll over and pick it up. She heard the curse and fell.

“Dammit, Granger. Get up before you really do get yourself killed.”

Someone had her arm in a vice-like grip and was dragging her off the edge of the battlefield. She looked around to where the Death Eater had stood just a moment before, poised to kill her, and saw only the sprawled figure of a smoking, hooded corpse. Stumbling to her feet, she was pulled along even as her eyes were still fixed on the scene behind her, trying to figure out what had happened. She had been cut off from her comrades. There had been no one who could have helped her. As the thought struck her, she turned, still running, to look at her saviour. What she saw was shocking enough to throw her off balance and she tumbled to the ground, pulling the Death Eater down with her.

“Fucking hell, Granger. We need to get further away. What is your problem?” he snarled, getting back to his feet and reaching for her.

“Malfoy?” she asked, incredulously.

“No, the Easter Bunny. Now get up and run if you want to live,” he replied. Victorious war-whoops from behind them gave Hermione little doubt that that way lay only death; her side didn’t make those cries. Her odds with Malfoy might possibly be somewhat better, though she had no idea why.

She took his hand and they fled deep into the forest together, finally stopping in a small clearing sheltered behind a cluster of large boulders. Hermione fell to the ground, manoeuvering herself to sit, resting against one of the massive stones as she gasped for breath. Malfoy was still on his feet, though just barely. He had thrown off his mask and his hands were braced on his knees as he, too, struggled for air.

“You mind explaining what that was all about?” she asked, as soon as she had breath to speak.

“Which part? Saving your sorry arse or practically killing myself getting you out of there?”

“The first part.”

“Oh. That.” He straightened up and walked over to sit a few feet away from her against the same rock. “Mind if we take a few moments before we get to the deep and meaningfuls?”

“This is your party, Malfoy. You call the shots. Shall we make small talk?”

He chuckled, mirthlessly. “Sure, Granger. How have you been? Killed either of my parents lately? No? Me? Well, you know, the usual. Torturing random Muggles and cursing old schoolmates into oblivion. Same old, same old.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Yeah,” he replied, grimly. “Quite a few, in fact.”

“Me too.”

He grimaced. “At least you don’t see their faces while you’re doing it.”

“No. But I see them afterwards.”

“In your nightmares?”

“No. I see them.”

He looked at her for the first time then. “Are you telling me you can see through masks?”

“No.” She shook her head. “When we go back after the battles to collect our wounded and dead, we catalogue the enemy kills. I make sure to check who I got. It… it seems important, somehow. To know who they were.”

Draco’s jaw dropped. “You go back after battles,” he stated flatly. “You just fucking told a Death Eater that after every battle you lot go back. Did it occur to you that if we knew that we might ambush you? Have you gone stupid?” By now he was yelling.

Hermione turned and met his eyes. “You saved my life. I figure you earned a bit of trust.”

“Fucking Gryffindors.” He turned away again, resting his head back against the rock and closing his eyes. “I’m not switching sides here. This isn’t that kind of moment, OK?”

“OK.”

“I just… I just got tired of it for a minute. Tired of seeing people I knew being killed.”

“So you took out the Death Eater who had me.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you know him?”

Draco took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He only spoke one word, but it was enough to send chills through Hermione that had nothing to do with the cold ground. “Crabbe.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of the distant battle.

“You look like hell, you know.”

“Gee, thanks. A girl always wants to look her best when she’s fighting for her life.”

“Yeah, well. You should eat more.”

She wasn’t sure how to take that, so she let it lie.

After a while, Draco stood and began pacing. Slowly at first, then faster, as he began speaking. “I’m not changing sides. I don’t even know what sides mean anymore. I’m just so bloody tired of all this fucking killing, all the blood, all the screaming. All I want is some peace and quiet. Just a few minutes of quiet. Can’t you people just SHUT THE FUCK UP!” he screamed towards the direction of the battle sounds.

Hermione thought quickly. There was no way to tell who was winning. If Draco drew fighters to them, one of them would certainly be killed. Quite possibly both. She had to calm him down, somehow.

Draco’s next words were swallowed by Hermione’s mouth, pressed against his as she threw herself onto him, knocking them both to the ground. “Granger! What the fuck!”

“Yes, Malfoy. Fuck me. Fuck me now. You want peace? You want a minute of peace and quiet? Fuck me. I’ll make you feel better.”

He had rolled her over and was already tearing her jeans off before she finished speaking. She helped him get her knickers down and worked one leg free so she could spread her legs. Then he was inside her, a hard, hot spike of pain ripping through her.

“Shit Granger. You’re a fucking virgin?” Thrust. “Ironic phrasing, that. Fucking virgin.” Thrust. “I guess you aren’t one any more.” Thrust. “Is this how you always dreamed it would be?” Thrust. “Am I fulfilling” Thrust “all your” Thrust “girly dreams?” Thrust. “Is this” Thrust “good for you?” Thrust. “Or is it fucked” THRUST “Like everything” THRUST “is fucked” THRUST “it’s all” THRUST “just FUCKED” THRUST “FUCKED” THRUST “FUCK” THRUST “FUCK” THRUSTFUCKTHRUSTFUCKTHRUSTFUCK **THRUSTFUCKKKKK**

…

She pulled her jeans back on and told herself it didn’t matter. Draco had finally stopped screaming and she was alive. That was the important thing. She had never been that fussed about her virginity, after all. It wasn’t as if she had been saving it. The moment had just never been right. At least it was over with now. Right. That would work.

They sat in silence until the distant sounds died off. Then they sat a while longer.

“The anti-Apparition wards are probably down by now,” she said.

“So leave.”

“I don’t have a wand.”

“Then I’ll leave.”

She made her way slowly back to the battlefield and waited under cover until she saw people she recognized moving among the fallen, then came forward and joined them in the clean-up effort. Her wand lay on the ground where she had lost it, a few meters from Vincent Crabbe’s dead body.

…

“How many stunned this time?” Moody asked the head of the returning clean-up squad.

“Two.”

Something new had begun to happen in their battles. No one knew how or why, but fighters who had fallen to clearly heard Avada Kedavras, bathed in green light, had been found afterwards stunned rather than dead. Not a lot, but a few here and there. There had been a skirmish early that morning and Harry, Ron and Hermione were in the war room with Moody, Minerva, and Remus, compiling the latest casualty and injury reports as they came in.

“One of them had a note, but it doesn’t make much sense.”

Everyone stopped what they were doing. “Read it.”

“‘The ferret is by the rock’.”

“That’s Malfoy,” Ron responded. “He’s the ferret. Never heard him call himself that, though.”

“So, Draco Malfoy is our mysterious non-killer. And he wants a meeting. But where the hell is ‘the rock’? And what does he want?” Moody mused.

“Me.” Hermione spoke up. “The rock is where he rescued me five months ago. I’m the only one who knows where it is, so it’s me he wants to meet him there.”

“MALFOY!” Ron and Harry exclaimed together.

“It was Malfoy that did this to you?” Ron shouted, waving his hands madly.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Harry ranted in her face.

“Because I thought you might get all excited about it. Silly of me, I see,” she replied, calmly, folding her hands over her still small but firmly protruding belly.

“Damn straight we’re excited. Draco fucking Malfoy raped you and you expect…”

Ron’s tirade was cut short as Hermione threw a silencing spell at him. “One more time,” she gritted through clenched teeth. “I was not raped. I am fine. And I am keeping the baby. Does anyone have any more questions on that topic or can we get on to the matter at hand?”

Minerva put a restraining hand on Harry’s shoulder and asked, “Do you have any idea what he might want?”

“I can’t be sure, but the last time we met he was pretty unhappy with the way the war was going. If he has, indeed, just been pretending to fight us since then, he may be ready to switch sides.”

“He would have a great deal of useful information to share,” Minerva suggested.

Remus slipped out to get Hermione a cup of herbal tea from the kitchen. Extra honey and a plate of biscuits, he decided. She was facing a very long and trying afternoon and she would need to keep her strength up.

Moody shook his head. “He won’t get a free ride. When the Wizengamot offered an amnesty to Death Eaters who turned themselves in last year, they were adamant that it was a one-time offer.”

“All right,” said Hermione. “Let’s talk details. Exactly how much can I offer him?”

…

“Took you long enough.” He was sitting against the rock, in more or less the same spot as the last time. The weather was warm for early spring, but Hermione kept her cloak closed.

“I’m here now.”

“I might have left,” he sulked.

She raised an eyebrow. He had taken a huge risk planting that note; whatever he wanted was worth waiting for. “But you didn’t. What do you want?”

He looked up at her, smirking. “I see you took my advice.”

“How’s that?”

He waved a hand vaguely towards her face. “You’ve been eating. Doesn’t look that good though. You’ve gone kind of puffy.”

“Ah, yes. My looks. Is that what we’re here for?”

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes in a familiar pose. “I’m tired. Let’s end it.”

“How?”

“There is an attack planned for later this week. A big one. Voldemort won’t be going along so he’ll be pretty much alone. I can drop the wards. If your people attack then, you can take him out.”

“What do you want?”

“What have you got?”

The negotiations didn’t take long. He knew that he couldn’t just be cleared and she had no interest in giving him any more than the absolute minimum sentence Moody was prepared to offer. The deal was set at eight years in a Muggle prison. No other wizarding-world prisoners who might recognize him, no Dementors, regular meals, access to a library, though a Muggle one; he would not have to set foot in Azkaban nor would he be in any physical danger. Hermione even promised to do her best to get him parole after five.

“You’ll have to come back with me and take Veritaserum before they’ll believe you.”

“I know.”

…

As they entered Grimmauld Place, Hermione left Draco in the entryway and went to get Moody. Curious, he peeked beneath the curtain.

“YOU FILTHY LOT OF TRAITOROUS SCUM… Who are you?” Walburga broke off her tirade to query, tremulously.

“Draco Malfoy.”

“Narcissa’s boy?”

Draco noticed Hermione hovering just out of the portrait’s line of sight. “Just a moment,” he excused himself, closing the curtain. “What’s with the biddy in the painting?” he asked.

“Walburga Black. She was your great-aunt, or something. We can’t get her off the wall and she hates us all with a passion. If you can get her out of there you will earn my undying gratitude.”

Draco’s eyebrow quirked. “I’m sure I can find a use for that,” he smirked, and walked back to the portrait.

“Great-Aunt Walburga?”

“Yes, my dear boy. Have you come to rescue my home from these dreadful intruders?”

“Erm. Yes. Yes, I have. I was just thinking, there is going to be a bit of disruption during the rescuing process. I’m concerned that you might get hurt. Do you think I could move you to a safer place?”

Hermione quietly sent Ginny off to get a blanket while Walburga explained to Draco how to remove the sticking charm. As soon as it was off the wall, Hermione and Tonks threw the blanket over it and carried it up the stairs. Ginny ran ahead and spread the news; by the time they tossed the portrait into the attic it was a triumphal procession.

Harry wrapped an arm around Hermione’s still cloak-clad shoulders. “Brilliant girl! How did you do it?”

“It wasn’t me. It was him,” she pointed to where Draco was lounging casually against a wall, smirking quietly.

“Oh.” The merriment died away suddenly as Harry approached Draco. “Are you here to help?”

Hermione looked warningly at Draco, who swallowed the sarcastic reply that was sitting on the tip of his tongue.

“I’m here to end it.”

“Then you are welcome.” Harry extended his hand to Draco, who paused a moment before straightening up and taking it.

A week later the war was over.


	2. Chapter 2

It hadn’t been a bad three and a half years. In fact, as prison sentences go, it had been remarkably pleasant. Doing time in a Cat C facility meant he had a cell to himself with a television. His work in the prison library and the computer courses kept him from being too bored and his elegant handwriting made him quite popular among the illiterate inmates, for whom he wrote letters to their families in return for a steady supply of sweets and his favoured brands of toiletries. The only real hardship had been living without magic. Not the actual things magic could do, he had learned to live without those pretty easily, but the feel of it, the power coursing through his veins, the sensation of flying, the heady knowledge that he could make the world respond to his will. Without magic, he was emasculated.

So while he wasn’t complaining about his treatment, neither was he complaining at being told he was due for release. Only, he was pretty sure the deal had been eight years. She had promised to try to get it down to five. Why was he getting out so soon?

The door to the holding room opened and in walked the one person he most expected to see at that moment.

“Granger. To what do I owe the pleasure? And, may I say, it is in fact a pleasure. You are looking mighty good after three and half years in an all-male prison,” he leered, eyeing her up and down.

“It’s nice to see you are still so concerned about my looks, Malfoy, but I’m only stopping in for a moment. Someone else will be taking you through your discharge procedure. I just wanted to give you this.” She held up a small book. “I…I wasn’t sure if I should give it to you… I don’t expect anything. Just, have a look.” She tossed it onto the table in front of him and started to walk out.

“Hey, Granger.”

She paused in the doorway.

“I wish…”

She turned to see him staring at his hands on the table, all the cockiness gone from his expression.

He’d had a long time to think and there was one thing he had promised himself he would say to her if he ever got a chance. “I wish it had been nicer. For you…your first time.”

Hermione nodded before she turned back to the doorway and left, though Draco, his eyes still fixed on his hands, didn’t see it.

Draco had just started to reach for the book when the door opened again and a burly Auror walked in, taking the seat opposite him. As Draco tucked the book into his jacket, the Auror explained, “You are getting out early, but don’t imagine that you are getting a free ride. Everything costs.” In Draco’s case, the cost was a lifetime probationary status. His right to practice magic in the British Isles and everything he owned would be held in escrow “at the discretion of the Minister of Magic” until such time as he could prove his worth to the wizarding world. Draco smirked. His worth would, no doubt, be measured in galleons, and the Malfoys were not such fools as to keep most of theirs where they could easily be found. He would have no trouble starting over anywhere he chose and he could buy his way back into Britain whenever he wished.

It was not until he was in line at the Heathrow International Portkey Terminal, waiting to be sent to the destination of his choice, that he thought to look at the book Hermione had given him.

Why on earth would Granger be giving him a photo album? There she was, looking thin and fierce, the way she had that day in the woods. And again. Then that puffy look. Then…he flipped back. Yes. In all the pictures one or more hands were resting on her abdomen, an abdomen that was getting suspiciously larger. He skipped to the last picture and his world shifted forever. Looking out at him and laughing was a curly-haired blonde girl with grey eyes. His eyes.

Draco charged out of the line only to be held up by the two, burly Aurors accompanying him.

“Changing your mind, Malfoy?” one of them asked, almost hopefully.

“No. I just need to do something…”

“Forget it. You take that Portkey or you hand over your wand and take an Unbreakable Oath to never perform magic again. You want to stay in Britain, you live as a Muggle. That’s the deal.”

“What the fuck are you talking about. The deal was I don’t perform magic while I’m in Britain. There was nothing about losing my powers permanently.”

“Those are our orders. And we have authorization to use Imperius if we have to. Get back in line, or we make you a Squib.”

Draco seethed. Granger. She had done this. And she had done it deliberately. Dangled his child in front of him and then slammed the door in his face. Be a father or be a wizard. It was not a choice he could make. He thought for a moment. If he took the oath, there was no chance of ever being a wizard again. If he left Britain, he would be able to grease the right palms to get back again. And when he did, he would make her pay.

…

Five year old Nicola Bronwyn Granger was not a quiet or demure child, but this time the fight was not her fault. Davy Hodgkins had tried to take her scooter and she was not the kind of girl who let boys take her things, especially not her very precious scooter that she had gotten for her birthday from her favorite uncle Harry. There were tears and scrapes and bruises before that little matter was settled, but Nicky kept her scooter.

The next day, Davy Hodgkins did not appear at pre-school. The day after that, Hermione discreetly inquired. Then she inquired less discreetly. Then she ambushed the burly Squib who watched her daughter and dragged him into an interrogation room. After half an hour, she sent a one-line message by owl to New York.

Two days later, she came home from work to find Draco Malfoy sitting on her front steps.

“You whistled?” He spat the words at her. Two years of assiduous palm-greasing had gotten him precisely nowhere. Barred from practicing magic in Britain, to get to her house he had been forced to endure an entire day’s travel by Muggle airplane and taxi. He wondered, idly, if it was possible for him to resent the bitch any more than he already did, or if this further insult to his pride was wasted effort.

“I don’t recall any whistling.”

“Close enough.” He threw down the parchment with the words “Call off your goons, now!” scrawled across them.

“Did you really think I would allow you to threaten a five year-old boy? Over a playground squabble?” She stood over him, hands on her hips.

“First of all, I didn’t do anything to anyone. Difficult to manage from thousands of miles away. Second, no one did anything to the boy. There was a polite conversation with his parents. Do you expect me to sit back while my child is brutalized?”

“Polite conversation? They put their house on the market and left town. The war is over, Malfoy, you can’t go around bullying people anymore. And since when do you give a shit about Nicky? Last time I checked, sending stalkers to watch our every move didn’t qualify as parenting.”

“Since I found out she existed, which, let me point out, was a good three years later than it should have been. What the hell did you expect me to do? You haven’t exactly given me a lot of choices.”

“Excuse me? Your complete lack of involvement in your daughter’s life is somehow my fault? Because I just don’t see that. You’re right, I didn’t think you needed to know about her when you were in prison and she was too young to know what a father was. But you have made zero effort to make contact with her since then.”

“Well, gee, Granger. After you had me thrown out of the entire fucking country, I didn’t think you wanted me around. Or was I just being sensitive?”

“How dare you...?!”

“SHUT UP. JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He shot to his feet, shouting directly into her face, all self-control lost. “We had a deal and you broke it. There was nothing in the deal about losing my rights or my home or my money. You got me sent away because you didn’t want me around my own child. You thought I might make trouble, raise some inconvenient questions. You stole my property and my child for the sake of your convenience. So don’t you play Miss High and Mighty with me, Granger.

“I have left you alone. All I wanted was information. I just wanted to be sure MY CHILD was ok, but you couldn’t even let me have that, could you?

“So you tell me what I’m supposed to do, huh, Granger? You hold all the cards. You have my kid. You have the Minister’s ear. Crook your little finger and get me dragged back to prison, if you want. Just don’t make me out to be the bad guy here. You don’t get to do that.”

“I didn’t break the deal. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Yeah, right.” He started walking away. “You know where I am and you know what I want. It’s your party, Granger. You call the shots.”

…

“Harry? Are you there?”

“Hey Hermione, what’s up?”

At the sight of her best friend’s face, she broke into tears. “I’ve got Nicky to sleep. Please, can you come over?”

He knocked on her door a few minutes later, having Apparated to a nearby alley. For security, Hermione’s fireplace was set for Floo calls, but not for travel by Floo powder.

“He’s right, you know,” she said, after recounting the conversation she’d had with Draco. “I made the deal. I gave him my word. And when it changed, I didn’t even ask why. I was just so relieved that he wouldn’t cause problems for me that I let it go. Have I been unfair to him?”

“Hermione, this is Malfoy we’re talking about. He may have sold out Voldemort, but that doesn’t make him a good guy. Hell, he sold out Voldemort. He’d sell out anyone if it served his interests. Whatever problems he has are not your responsibility.”

“No. But Nicky is. And he’s her father.”

“He’s just the sperm donor. He’s not a father.”

“Oh, Harry. Why can’t I believe it’s that simple?” She leaned on his shoulder. “Will you look into it for me? Find out why the deal changed?”

“Sure,” he replied, wrapping an arm around her. “Is that an official request from my boss or a favour for a friend?”

“A favour. Until we know who’s involved, I think we should keep this quiet.”

“Sure thing. Do you want me to stay?”

“If you don’t mind.”

He took her hand and led her back into the bedroom. It was nice, the way it was always nice with Harry. He knew just how to tweak her nipples and rub her clit to make her come. Then he lowered himself on top of her and took what he needed in silence. It had been years since he had last made the mistake of calling out Ginny’s name when he was with her.

He gave her a kiss on the cheek before going off to shower. She listened to him getting dressed and waited for the soft ‘pop’ of Apparition before letting herself drift off to sleep.

…

Draco had an aching back and a splitting headache by the time his flight landed at JFK. There were a lot of things about the Muggle world he had learned to appreciate, but airplanes would never make the list. He called Ailish as soon as he touched ground and she was waiting in his downtown penthouse before he got there, holding a glass of single-malt scotch and wearing nothing but a lacy thong, high heels and a smile. Throwing the liquor down his throat, he slammed down the glass and bent her over the back of the sofa, ripping her panties off and taking her roughly from behind. He was leaning over her with his bared teeth a scant inch from her shoulder, still fully clothed as he thrust into her unresisting form, before he realized what he was about to do. Holding his instincts in check, he reached around and rubbed her clit, bringing her to a gasping climax before he loosed his seed within her. Pulling out, he excused himself and went to use the toilet.

Ailish smiled as she stretched out on the sofa, waiting for Draco to come back from the bathroom. Sex with Draco had never been like that before. He was always the consummate lover, creative, sensuous, and considerate. Tonight he had been passionate and needy. Rough enough to leave five perfect fingerprints of bruises on each of her hips, which she didn’t much care for, but needy. For her. All those months of playing to his ego, all those endless hours at the gym, all her little games were finally paying off. She was going to get herself a rich, sexy, sophisticated husband.

Draco wandered back into the living room and handed Ailish a goblet of wine. “Sorry about that. I was in a bit of a mood,” he explained, sitting in an armchair with another glass of single-malt.

She pouted a bit at his distance, but made the most of it, posing her limbs attractively for his perusal. Her gym-trained thighs were tucked neatly to the side, her perfectly toned abs stretched, and her artificially enhanced breasts thrust forward. Such a shame that he wasn’t looking. “Bad trip, Drakie?”

He managed not to wince at the nickname. “You could say that. I had a run-in with the stone-cold bitch who ruined my life.”

She looked around at his immaculate, designer penthouse, his custom-fitted Armani suit, and her own obvious perfection. “Hardly ruined, darling. You are the envy of every man and the desire of every woman. Including me.” She batted her eyelashes, hoping to get at least a bit of a compliment out of him.

Draco snorted. “You don’t have a fucking clue.”

…

He made it up to her, of course. By the time he had licked half a jar of chocolate sauce off of her favorite bits and given her two more orgasms, she was as contented as a kitten with warm milk. She tried for a kiss on her way out, but was disappointed again. “You know I don’t do that,” he reminded her.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she retorted, saucily. It may not have been the breakthrough she had hoped for, but things were still on track. He had reached out for her when he was unhappy and she had made it all better, what more could a man want in a woman? She would be Mrs. Malfoy eventually, she thought to herself, as she smiled at the doorman and stepped into the Apparition Room off the lobby.

…

Ailish had been gone for hours, but Draco still sat nursing his scotch and his grudges. His behaviour with Ailish left him shaken. He had been within seconds of biting into her flesh, tearing her tender skin with his teeth. It had been a long time since he had allowed the beast to come snarling out of its cage when he wasn’t alone. Granger was the only one who could have done that to him.

The tapping on his window startled him out of elaborate and improbable fantasies of vengeance. The parchment the owl carried had nothing on it but a phone number. He dialed.

“Draco?”

“I wasn’t aware we were on a first name basis, Granger.”

“Sorry.”

He waited till she spoke again.

“You made some valid points. I have a proposition.”

“Your propositions don’t seem to work all that well for me, do they? Isn’t that how I got here?” he sneered.

She refused to take the bait. “Do you want to see Nicola?”

“Yes.” The word was ripped from his throat, raw and needy.

“We’ll be at the Port Authority Portkey Terminal this Friday at three. You can have her for the weekend.”

“That’s it? Just like that?” he asked, suspiciously.

“Yes, Malfoy. Just like that. All you ever had to do was ask.” She hung up the phone and buried her face in her hands. _What have I done?_ she wondered.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione was startled to see herself, clad in something that looked suspiciously like a leotard, zooming around on the chest of a young Witch who was hurrying across the Port Authority Portkey Terminal. There was something more than a little disturbing about the way the image moved across the jiggling of barely pubescent breasts. What was she doing on a T-shirt? She was aware, of course, that she appeared as a character in a popular comic book version of Harry’s adventures, her Gringotts account balances regularly reflected royalty payments, but she had assumed that hers was a minor character. This explained Malfoy’s insistence that she travel under a Glamour.

They had exchanged several Owls over the past week, working out the details of the visit. Considering how their last meeting had gone, the messages had been noticeably civil. It seemed they were both making efforts to try to insure that things would go smoothly.

She should have known that Nicola would not cooperate. “Mummy! That’s you! Look, Mummy, you’re on this comic book. And you’re flying! Can you really do that?” She had found a kiosk and was bouncing excitedly in front of the magazine rack, screeching at the top of her little lungs.

“It’s just a picture, sweetheart. That’s not really me. It doesn’t even look like me.”

“Yes it is. See, Mummy? It says Hermynee Granger! That’s you.” She turned to the bemused owner of the kiosk and explained, “I can read my name **and** my mummy’s name. Miss Fox taught me how. She’s my teacher. I’m in Reception now ‘cause I’m five.”

She might not look like Hermione Granger, but celebrities tended to travel in disguise and the kid seemed pretty sure. He was pulling out a stack of comics to try to get her signature when Draco stormed through the small crowd that had gathered around them. He froze for a moment when he caught sight of Nicola, but then Hermione stepped between them and scooped up the child.

Draco caught himself and nodded. “Let’s go,” he said, gruffly.

She followed him across the terminal, through a doorway and down a hall to where an elevator was being held open by a young, fashionably dressed Asian man. He was clearly waiting for them, as he followed them into the elevator and pushed the “R” button.

“You just couldn’t help making a scene, could you?” Draco muttered.

“It was hardly my fault,” she protested.

“No, it never is. You and Potter just attract it, like flies on shit.”

“Draco Malfoy, you will not use that kind of language in front of my daughter!” she declared, putting Nicola down to face him.

“Your… erm… yeah. Sorry.” He crouched down and spoke directly to Nicola, where she stood clinging to her mother’s leg. “I’m sorry about that. It was a mistake. I promise I won’t do it again.”

Nicola looked up to make sure that her mother was not angry. When she saw Hermione smile at her, she turned to Draco. “That’s all right. My Uncle Ron says things like that all the time. He’s always getting in trouble,” she giggled. “Do you know Uncle Ron?”

Draco smiled, looking relieved. “I’ve met him. That was a long time ago, though.”

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Hermione looked out. “‘R’ is for roof.”

“Yes, it is,” Draco replied, in a mockingly patient voice. “Is this a spelling lesson?”

“No. I was just hoping that there was some other explanation.” She looked over at the helicopter pad and the sleek, powerful looking machine sitting on it.

“It’s the latest Muggle craze, helicopter tours around Manhattan. I thought Nicola might enjoy getting a birds-eye view of the city. Is there a problem?”

Their companion had, by then, opened the helicopter’s door and pulled down steps for them to climb in. Hermione gritted her teeth and got in, buckling Nicola into a seat by the window. She hoped that, by seating herself in the middle, she might be able to manage. If they just stayed steady. And she didn’t look up from the floor. Draco sat opposite Nicola and their companion closed the door before walking around to the front and taking the passenger seat next to the pilot.

“He would be…?” Hermione nodded towards the still silent man as he buckled himself in.

“Akio. He’s my personal assistant,” Draco explained.

“Oh. Of course he is.” Hermione settled back on the cushions and prayed for a quick, painless flight.

Nicola was in heaven. She squealed every time the helicopter banked and exclaimed over every sight. Draco pointed out all the famous landmarks: they hovered over Central Park, circled the Empire State and Chrysler buildings, and swept over Fifth Avenue. The more Nicola squealed, the more the pilot swooped and turned.

They were over the sea, headed for the Statue of Liberty when Hermione’s panic hit. Air. She needed air. She looked around and spotted a window set into the door that looked like it might open. Wrenching off her seatbelt, she dived across the floor towards that porthole of salvation, only to be dragged down by a heavy, grasping weight.

“Malfoy! Get off me. I need to…”

“Forget it, Granger. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but forget it.” He clamped a hand over her mouth and yelled: “LAND THIS THING! NOW!!!”

It was a shaky Hermione and a livid Draco that got off the helicopter on Liberty Island.

“What the hell was that about?”

“You watch your language in front of Nicky!”

“What? You are worried about my LANGUAGE when you were about to throw yourself out of a moving helicopter in front of her?!”

“I was doing no such thing!” Hermione declared, holding the now-frightened Nicola against her leg.

“NO? Then what were you doing?”

“I just needed some air.”

“Air?”

“Yes. Air. You’ve heard of it?”

“I’ve heard of it. We had a helicopter full of it. What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Thinking?”

“No.”

“Because?”

She turned away and took a couple of steps. “Because I’m afraid of heights. OK?” She turned back towards him, further away now. “I panicked. It happens when I fly. I freak out and I panic.”

He stared at her. “You panic.”

“Yes.”

“As in, this has happened before.”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you get in the helicopter?” He spoke slowly, as if to an idiot child.

She couldn’t meet his eyes, so she looked at her feet. “You went to so much trouble. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

For the first time in a very a long time, Draco Malfoy smiled. He tried not to, but the smile would not be denied. “How’d that work out for you?”

She couldn’t stop the giggle. “Not well.” She looked up and met his eyes and they both laughed, just a bit. “I’m sorry.”

He held out his hand. “Hello. My name is Draco Malfoy. I think we need to start over.”

…

It was 4:00 New York time, which made it nine at night for Nicola. She had been staying awake on sheer adrenaline, but once they settled down to sit on the grass she curled up in her mother’s lap and nodded off. Draco took Nicola and Hermione held on to Akio as they Apparated to Draco’s Long Island house.

“It’s a bit early for me, but would you like something to eat?” Draco asked after Hermione had tucked Nicola into her bed and then met him in the living room.

“Yes, please.”

Draco called Akio, who peeked in from the doorway.

“I’m not coming in unless you let me talk. This silent shtick is killing me,” he announced. At Draco’s nod, he entered with a flourish and proclaimed, “At your beck, my lord and master.” He turned saucily to Hermione and added, “He only gets the beck. I saved the call for you.”

She managed not to gape in astonishment, but only by biting the inside of her cheek. He had one of those thick New York accents she had only ever heard before in movies and the gestures of a drama queen.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Our guest would like something to eat. You will have to ask her whether she wants the floor show as well.”

Akio pouted at Draco before asking Hermione, “A proper meal or just a little nosh? We got everything. Tell me your heart’s desire and I’ll fulfill your every fantasy. Well, food anyway. You’ll have to settle for his royal blondeness over there for your other,” he winked, salaciously, “needs.”

“Umm. A nosh? I think that will be fine.”

“Back in a sec,” he replied, turning to go. At the door he stopped and wagged a finger at Draco. “Don’t do anything you wouldn’t want me to walk in on, you hear? She’s had a long day. Let her eat before you jump her.”

Hermione goggled after him. “That was… different.”

Draco shrugged. “He has phenomenal organizational skills, superb taste, an extensive network of contacts, he is unfailingly discreet, and he knows better than to try to sleep with the boss. Believe me, these are rare qualities in a personal assistant.”

“Does he know not to use magic in front of Nicky?”

“You are serious about that? I know you send her to a Muggle school, but she’s never seen any magic?”

“None until today. It would make things complicated.”

“Why?”

Hermione sighed and looked at him. “She’s five. She couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it. It would be too hard to keep her in the Muggle world if she were exposed to magic on a regular basis.”

“So put her in a magical school.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And how long would it take before rumors started spreading about who her father is? There are very few people in our world who know I have a child. I’d like to keep it that way as long as possible.”

Draco’s face twisted. “I guess it would be pretty horrible for you if the truth got out.”

“No, Draco,” she explained, patiently. “Not for me. I’m not ashamed of anything that happened. But it would be pretty hard on her. Imagine the names she’ll be called. ‘Bastard’ will be the least of it.”

He nodded. “You’re right. I wouldn’t fancy having to explain to her what ‘Death Eater spawn’ means.”

“Exactly. But her school is not an ordinary Muggle one. The staff are all Squibs. So they’ll know how to handle it when she starts performing accidental magic and they can cope if she has the occasional exposure to magic.”

“That’s awfully convenient,” Draco commented wryly. “There just happens to be a school run by Squibs?”

“Not by accident. It’s supported by the Muggle Liaison Office as a measure to reduce accidental exposure. Other than Nicola, all the students are the younger brothers and sisters of Muggle-born witches and wizards. Dennis Creevey went there after Colin started at Hogwarts, that’s how I knew about it. The students all know that magic is real, but they don’t have a lot of exposure to it. When they finish, a Ministry official casts a spell on all those who haven’t developed magical abilities to prevent them from talking about magic and they go on to normal Muggle schools.”

“Why don’t they cast the spell on them right away?”

“Because it would suppress their magic, if they have any. Over half of them do.”

Draco thought for a moment. “So you don’t plan on telling Nicola that I’m her father.” He had agreed not to tell her himself as part of the arrangements for the visit. If keeping the truth hidden was going to be a condition of being allowed to see his daughter, there was nothing he could do about it.

“For now. It will all come out in time, but I’d rather give her a few more years before she has to face all that. By then the war will be further behind us and fewer people will care to count back the months and ask questions.”

“And the name of Malfoy will have drifted further from people’s memories,” he added somewhat bitterly.

“I hope not.”

Draco looked startled.

“I told you, I had nothing to do with changing the deal. I’m working on finding out what happened. With any luck at all, we’ll be able to find a way to fix this.” She had decided to make the resolution of Draco’s problems one of her top priorities, both to satisfy her own sense of justice and to ease Nicola’s eventual entry into the wizarding world.

“Why would you do that?” Draco’s suspicions were immediately raised. It was startling enough that Hermione had agreed to let him meet his daughter; now she seemed to be volunteering to help him fight his battles. In Draco’s experience, no one helped anyone else without very good reasons of their own. Not that he would voice those suspicions, at least not until he had a great deal more information about her motives.

“Because you were right. I made the deal and I should have made sure it was honoured. Things were pretty busy at the time, which may not have been a coincidence. But I’m not making any excuses.”

“What do you mean, not a coincidence?”

“Your release papers were signed the day before my promotion was announced.” It hadn’t taken Harry long to uncover some serious irregularities in the processing of Draco’s release.

“That was when you became Head of the Auror Division.”

“Right. By the time you were actually released, I was up to my neck in dealing with transition issues, but your file was already closed. That’s what we’ve figured out so far.”

“Here we go, a proper New York nosh. We got bagels. We got lox. We got whitefish. We got cream cheese. We got tomatoes, red onion, capers. A little potato salad and dill pickles sour enough to make you sing the blues. And a nice bottle of Chardonnay. Anything else your little heart desires, I’m just a call away.” Akio was in and out, leaving behind a spread that also included a fruit and cheese platter and a selection of pastries, in the time it took him to announce the menu.

“‘We’?” Draco queried, as Hermione began sorting her way through the offerings.

“Harry and I,” she replied, settling on a poppy-seed bagel and beginning to spread the cream cheese.

“Well that’s just typical. Harry Potter, the Boy Wonder, rides to the rescue again.”

Hermione decided that it was time to sidestep the skepticism for a moment. “You know, you aren’t too bad at that yourself.”

“Excuse me? I’m hardly the heroic type.”

She smiled as she piled on lox, tomato and capers. “You moved pretty fast when you thought I was in danger this afternoon. That’s twice now you’ve charged to my rescue.”

“Bad habit,” Draco grumbled, trying not to look pleased. “So is it just the two of you working on this?”

“Well, Ron knows about it, of course.”

“Of course,” he replied, sarcastically. “It’s not enough to bring in the Boy Wonder. This calls for the return of the Terrible Trio. I feel so much better now.” He joined her at the table and poured them each a glass of wine.

Hermione giggled despite herself. “We work well as a team. When the war was over, the Ministry tried desperately to keep us together. The Auror ranks were awfully thin and they thought it would be good for morale if people knew we were all on the job together. But Ron had had enough of fighting and I was getting close to term. Harry was the only one who still wanted to fight bad guys.”

“You stayed with the Aurors.”

“Yes, but as a dispatcher and researcher. I worked on cases, but not in the field. With Nicola to take care of, I didn’t think I should take those risks quite so often.”

“And now you are the boss.”

“Yes, well. When Kingley got promoted to Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I was the logical choice. We had been working together for three years, I knew the job better than anyone. I’m starting to suspect that whoever was behind your deal saw that moment as an opportunity to slip something through without it being noticed and that’s why you got out so soon.”

“Any ideas who would have wanted to do it?”

“Lots. There are a fair number of people with grudges against your family, not to mention quite a few who blame you personally for loved ones they lost in the war. It could be any of those. The question is not who had motive, but who had the ability to make it happen. Either someone very high up who could pull a lot of strings without being called to account or someone very clever low-down in the ranks who managed to slip pieces of paper in and out of files and get or forge signatures without being noticed. We are working both angles.”

Hermione finished eating and went off to bed, leaving Draco with a great deal to think about.

…

The rest of the weekend went according to plan. Hermione worked in a study that had been set up for her while Draco floundered through the amusement-park funhouse that is the world of a five year-old child. Hermione joined them for meals and listened to the tales of their adventures, but she kept her counsel, letting Draco find his own way.

For Hermione, the weekend was a rare opportunity to catch up on her work in peace and quiet. Ordinarily, she never had much time on her own. Her parents had repeatedly offered to take Nicola for evenings or weekends, but Hermione always accompanied her daughter on her visits to the Granger house. She had never really got over her parents’ responses to her pregnancy. It had been bad enough when they tried to convince her not to carry the child to term, but once she had made clear that she would not consider that option, they had been adamant that she should give Nicola up for adoption.

Harry and Ron had made the same arguments, but they had backed off and accepted her decisions much earlier in the process. She wasn’t sure if it was the revelation of who the father was, the fact that Draco had been instrumental in ending the war, or simply their recognition of her stubbornness that had made them come around, but by the time Nicola was born they were both staunchly in her corner. That had been critically important in keeping her daughter’s existence secret from the wizarding world. In the first year after the end of the war, there had been tremendous pressure on the three of them to appear at a seemingly endless series of public events. It was only Harry’s and Ron’s willingness to cover for her and take on the bulk of the public duties that allowed Hermione to hide her growing belly and have the time to recover from Nicola’s birth. Harry had not been shy about throwing his weight around when it came to protecting Hermione and keeping the press and the public away for as long as she needed him to.

Despite their eventual support, the early opposition of those closest to her had served to make Hermione deeply determined to prove them all wrong. If they thought her incapable of raising a child on her own even with their help, then she would do it without them. She did not deny her parents the right to see Nicola, but neither would she use them as babysitters. When there was an emergency at work, she would leave Nicola with Ron and his family, but otherwise, if Nicola was not at school or after-care, she was with her mother.

For Hermione, sending her daughter off with Draco was a delicious luxury. She finished up all of her weekend work and had time left over to read up on the latest developments in advanced Arithmancy and some newly discovered properties of exotic potions ingredients.

After spending most of the previous day at Adventureland and the morning at Atlantis Marine World, by lunchtime on Sunday Nicky was too overstimulated to control herself and pitched a full-on wobbly. After a few minutes of hysterical screaming, Hermione stepped in and banished her daughter to her room.

Draco was hovering in the hallway as she closed the door behind the still-shrieking child. “I blew it, didn’t I,” he stated, glumly.

“No. You just need to get used to each other. Once she calms down I’ll take her home. I think this went well enough that we can try it again. What about the week after next?”

“Really?”

“Yes, Draco. Really.”

 

A/N: Reception is (roughly) the British equivalent of kindergarten.


	4. Chapter 4

Their next visit, Hermione simply Apparated them to Draco’s house from the Port Authority Station in Manhattan. Hermione allowed Nicola to stay up for an hour, so she chattered away to Draco about her friends and her teacher and showed him the pictures she had made for him.

They had agreed to keep Nicola on London time, so in the morning, Hermione had a few hours with her daughter. Nicola got to wear one of the nice, matching outfits that her grandparents bought her every Christmas, despite Hermione’s insistence that her daughter had no need for such things. Hermione fixed them a simple breakfast, and then they read together and played games on the Leapster* until they heard the sounds of other people stirring. Then Hermione went back up to her room and drew herself a bath.

There were some new bottles sitting by the bath, containing her favourite shampoo, conditioner, and bath salts. Her favourite soap was by the sink, next to her brand of toothpaste. More confusing was the fact that, after her bath, Hermione found that her bag had been emptied while she bathed. In the walk-in closet, the drawstring pants and linen tunic she had worn the day before had disappeared. Nor was the comfortable sweat suit she had brought to work in anywhere to be seen. Instead, there was a single hanger which held a cream-coloured outfit bearing a note that said: “Wear me.” Her first response was indignation, but then she thought better of it. If she was going to be staying in Draco’s house, it made sense that he would want her to fit in with his image in case anyone else came over for a visit. Dressed in her own clothes, she simply would not look like anyone that Draco would have as a houseguest.

Having decided that the clothes were nothing more than props that would support their cover story, Hermione pulled them out to see what the master of the house had deemed suitable for her role and was pleasantly surprised. It seemed to be some sort of sweats, though much nicer than her old grey ones. The fabric was incredibly soft and light. She found knickers and bras, still in their Marks and Sparks packages, in a drawer. They were the right size, but came in a range of pale, pastel colours and bore delicate bits of lace trim, unlike her own, plain white cotton underthings. Everything fit perfectly, of course. She took a quick look in the mirror and decided the outfit was not too bad. It wasn’t sweats, after all, but some sort of comfortable knit-wear. The top was not nearly as long as her usual tops, falling to just a few inches below her waist instead of covering her hips and bum entirely, but no one would be seeing her anyway. A pair of embroidered slippers, sitting in front of the wardrobe, completed the ensemble. The outfit was comfortable and suitably concealing, and easily the most stylish thing she had worn in years.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. You look gorgeous in that, darling.”

Hermione smiled. “Good morning, Akio.”

“Oh, please. Call me Key. Everyone does.”

“Draco doesn’t.”

“Boss-man pays my salary, sweetheart, he can call me whatever he wants. What I meant was everyone I like. Big, bad meanies don’t count.”

Hermione laughed. “Is he really that bad?”

“I can hear you, you know,” Draco called from the next room.

“We know. We just don’t care,” Akio called back. Then he turned to Hermione and whispered loudly, “I like to let him think he’s scary. It makes him happy.”

“I can still hear you,” Draco growled, walking in with Nicola on his heels.

Akio grinned, not in the least bit fazed by his boss’ supposed disgruntlement.

At Hermione’s recommendation, Draco had planned some less energetic activities for this visit. First stop was a visit to a nearby park that featured a duck pond. There had been extensive discussion the previous evening of the best position for feeding ducks. Nicola was all for standing and hurling the bread as far as possible, which Draco had agreed to until Hermione pointed out the potential for falling in.

“The car will be out front in a minute. There is a bag on the seat with a sweater and snacks for the little darling,” Akio instructed, pinching Nicola’s cheek gently, “and bread for the ducks. There’s a picnic in the trunk, but don’t forget to put a blanket down before you sit, you don’t want to get your little tushy all wet and dirty, now do you, honey?”

Nicola grinned at the strange man happily. “We won’t,” she promised.

Draco rolled his eyes at his assistant before sparing Hermione a glance. “That looks nice,” he commented, nodding to her in greeting before he turned to escort Nicky out.

Hermione finished her breakfast and went up to the study to work, but after just an hour, Akio came after her.

“You are not spending the whole day cooped up in this house again,” he told her, wagging a finger in her general direction. “You are not a bat, you are a person and people need sunshine. If you must work, you are going to do it on the terrace like a civilized human being.” He escorted her out to the stone terrace behind the house where he had set up a table for her. “Now, I’ve made sure you won’t get any nasty gusts of wind messing up your parchments, just a nice gentle breeze,” he fussed, as she sat down. “I’ll give you an hour, then I’m bringing you a nice cup of tea. I know how you Brits love your tea.”

It seemed only a moment before he was back. He brought out a tray full of tea things in a lovely bone china, with a delicate Oriental flower design. There was a plate with three types of biscuits and the teapot turned out to be full of hot water, while one bowl held an assortment of herbal teabags and another was full of honey.

“I didn’t think serving at table was part of a personal assistant’s job,” she commented as she selected a lemon-ginger tea and added water and honey to her cup.

“Only for you, honey. And that adorable little angel you bring with you. This is definitely not my regular gig. The boss-man sends the rest of the staff home when the two of you come to visit.” He pouted for a moment before adding, “He even sent my Sam away.”

“Your Sam?”

Akio tilted his head back and let his expression go all dreamy. “Oh, yes. MY Sam. He’s the loveliest boy you could imagine, but he has a terribly loose tongue. A talented tongue, mind you, he can…”

“Too much information, Key.”

Akio grinned. “Really, Dollface, you need to loosen up a bit. Anyway. They’re all dying to know what’s going on, but I’ll never tell.” He brought a hand to his face, miming a quick zip, lock and throw away the key. “If word got out that Heroine Hermione was here, we wouldn’t have a moment’s peace.”

Hermione choked on her tea. “Heroine Hermione? Tell me you just made that up.”

Akio looked at her, mischievously. “Don’t tell me. You’ve never actually read your comics.”

“Of course not.”

A quick Accio brought one to the table. Hermione stared at the cover incredulously. “‘The adventures of Hero Harry, Heroine Hermione, and Roustabout Ron?’ Ugh. Who comes up with this stuff?”

“You are all the rage darling.”

“You mean Harry is. I’m just the sidekick,” she replied, dismissively, as she started leafing through the graphic novel.

“Oh, no. I mean **you**. There was an entire Heroine Hermione float in the last Gay Pride parade, in the Wizzes and Witchards division, of course. You’re as big as Xena was in her day. You’re an icon.”

Hermione had a vague idea who Xena was, but she had no idea what he meant by calling her an icon. Then again, she was pretty sure she didn’t want to. “So what does Sam do?”

“This,” he declared, his arm sweeping dramatically around them.

“This?”

“Really, darling. You have got to get your nose out of your reports and smell the roses. And I mean that literally. This,” he gestured again. “The garden.”

“Oh.” She looked around. The garden in front of her was truly lovely, she noticed, now that someone had pointed it out to her. “It’s quite nice.”

“NICE? Nice, she says.” Akio shook his head. “That is it. You are coming with me, girlfriend.” He took her hand and dragged her off the terrace. “My Sam is a genius and if there is one minute shred of a soul hiding in that sweet little body of yours, you are going to appreciate it. And you can stop rolling your eyes. You do have a darling figure, however hard you try to hide it.”

“When did you get to be an expert on women’s figures?” she asked as they began wandering the paths of the, admittedly, very lovely gardens.

“Who do you think bought that outfit you’re wearing? Boss man? Please. I do all the shopping around here. I used to be a fitter at Saks. I can size a woman, shoes to lingerie, at 20 paces.”

“So, more than just a pretty face, then,” she teased as she took his arm companionably.

“You bet your boots, Dollface.”

…

It was mid-afternoon when two very muddy and soggy blonds got back. Hermione saw the car pull up and went around to meet them. Draco had tried to insist that Nicola stay several feet back from the water’s edge when she fed the ducks, while she had insisted that Mummy let her sit much closer. In the ensuing struggle, she had fallen in. When he had waded in after her, she had decided it would be fun to practice swimming, lunging away from him and making him lose his balance.

Hermione tried to suppress her mirth, though Akio didn’t bother, laughing and making funny faces at Nicola, who howled in glee back at him.

Draco stalked towards the house, muttering that it was easier doing time than trying to manage a child.

“You don’t have to, you know.”

He looked back, startled. “I didn’t mean that. I wouldn’t ever want…”

“I know. Just reminding you how much it’s worth,” she added as Akio led Nicola back to the house.

He looked down. “It would be a hell of a lot easier if I didn’t have one hand tied behind my back.”

“You mean your wand hand?”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t build a relationship based on tricks. That’s not what she needs.”

“They aren’t tricks,” he snapped. “It’s what I am.”

It wasn’t very friendly, but she decided to give him points for not adding a comment about how difficult that would be for a Mudblood to understand. “No it’s not. At least, it’s not the important parts.”

“Why would you say that? What do you think I am? What made you come here?”

So now we finally get to it, she thought. “Tell me how you knew what kind of shampoo I like.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just tell me.” As if she didn’t already know.

“I’ve been getting reports on everything you do for the past two years. I know a lot about you.”

“Including my brand of shampoo?”

Draco looked uncomfortable. “Everything. I have copies of all your shopping lists.”

“Why?” she pushed.

He wondered what she was getting at. Was she trying to accuse him of stalking her? Was this some kind of set-up? “It wasn’t about you. It was about Nicky. You do know that, don’t you?”

Hermione nodded.

“I wanted to be sure she had everything she needed.”

“That’s what I think you are. A caring parent. A somewhat obsessive one, but a caring one.”

“That’s it?” he asked in a suspicious tone.

“Yes, Draco. That’s it. It’s not about you. It’s about Nicky.”

…

Draco wasn’t ready to handle bath duties yet, so Hermione cleaned Nicola up, grabbing a quick shower herself before getting back into the cream outfit. By then it was time for Nicola’s dinner and then Hermione had a quiet chat with her daughter before reading her a bedtime story. After tucking Nicola in, Hermione went downstairs looking for her own dinner, only to find Draco dressed up and waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.

“I thought you might like a night out. Akio can keep an eye on Nicky.”

Hermione hesitated long enough for Akio to jump in. “What, you thought you’d stay locked up in the house like some kind of fugitive? Fuggedaboutit. This is New York and you, young lady, need a night out. And you, Boss-man, need some adult conversation. So shoo!” He handed Draco a linen napkin as he waved them out the door.

“Henpecked much?” she asked Draco.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Constantly. He’s like the mother I never wanted.”

“Please tell me he hasn’t made elaborate plans. All I want is dinner; I’m starved. Can we just go somewhere nearby and grab a quick bite?”

Draco eyed her warily. “Actually, I made the plans. We’re going into Manhattan. And it won’t be quick.”

“Manhattan? I’m not really dressed for anything special.”

He looked her over, more carefully this time. The soft fabric of her outfit was expertly cut and draped. It was simple and demure, but classically elegant. “You’ll do,” he replied, holding out the napkin, which opened to reveal a single, gleaming, black lacquer chopstick. They grabbed it together and Portkeyed to a quiet table in the hidden room in Nobu, set aside for wizarding customers, where hot towels and steaming cups of sake were set out waiting for them.

Draco watched with amusement as Hermione responded to the various dishes. She had eaten Japanese food before; her favorite lunch was take-away sushi from a little place just a block down from the Leaky Cauldron on the Muggle side, but that was nothing like this. The yellowtail was flavored with jalapenos, black cod came broiled with miso, and the lobster tempura gave her an entirely new appreciation for fried food. She was quietly surprised by the small portion sizes until Draco explained how many courses she could expect.

“What were you doing when we got back?” His brain had registered the fact that she was in different clothes then, but it had only just occurred to him that there might be some meaning to it.

“Training.” It had taken some arm-twisting to get Akio to release her clothing so she could wear her sweats to work out in.

“For what?”

“I’m an Auror, Draco. We are in training all the time. We work on general fitness and endurance, but mostly martial arts training. You never know when you’ll need to physically overpower a suspect,” she explained.

“But you work in an office. Why would you need to fight anyone?”

“I’m in the office most of the time, but in an emergency I need to be prepared.”

“You would put yourself in harm’s way?” Draco’s shock was evident in his tone, though he kept his features relatively calm.

Hermione fixed him with a penetrating stare. “Yes, if my people were in trouble, I would go in after them. I can’t ask them to take risks I wouldn’t be willing to share and I won’t abandon them if they need me. I’m an Auror, it’s what **I** am. In the same way that you are a wizard.”

“You are also a mother, have you thought about that?” He knew as soon as the words left his mouth that he should have been more circumspect. He needed to stay in Hermione’s good graces, which was why he had taken her to dinner, and criticizing her choices was not the way to accomplish that goal.

Hermione stayed calm, though her tone was a bit frosty. “Of course I have. There are arrangements in place for Nicky should anything happen to me. But what kind of mother would I be if I raised my daughter to believe that she will have to chose between having a family of her own and living her life fully? Part of being a good parent is setting an example for your child in the way you live your own life.

Draco thought for a moment before answering her. “I’m in no position to judge you,” he finally replied. “I had the choice of being near her or being a wizard and I left.”

“It was an unfair choice, you should never have had to make it. Any more than I should have to choose between the daughter I love and a career that is meaningful to me.”

“Would you mind telling me what the arrangements are? In case anything happens, I should probably know.”

“Of course you should. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it earlier. My parents would have full custody. Harry’s agreed to take charge of her introduction to magic, he’ll stay in contact with her and they’ll let him know when the time comes. Ron’s the backup if something were to happen to both me and Harry. Of course, now that you are part of her life we should probably rethink the arrangements. Once you are back in Britain you should meet my parents and we’ll talk about what adjustments to make.”

He noted how readily she assumed that he would, in fact, be able to return to Britain and that he would continue to be part of Nicola’s life. He also noted, approvingly, that no matter how unfamiliar she was with her surroundings, her reactions were subtle. No one watching from any distance would have known that it was her first time in a top-of-the-line restaurant. She was also subtle in her reactions to the company. There were several famous faces in the room, but beyond checking with Draco to be sure that they were, in fact, who she thought they were, she showed no sign of interest. Of course, he thought, she was hardly one to be fazed by mere fame; between her friendships with Harry and Viktor and her own celebrity, she had spent a good portion of her life either near or in the limelight.

In fact, if anything, she was more gawked at than gawker. The Chair of the American Quidditch Council came over to chat, ostensibly to Draco, who he had met a few times before. Draco introduced Hermione as “an old school friend.”

“It’s an honour, Miss Granger. Are you in town for business or pleasure?”

“Just business,” she replied.

“Oh, dear. I do hope it’s no one I know. Have you gotten yourself into trouble, Draco?”

It hadn’t occurred to Hermione until that moment that, if she was really all that famous, people might assume she was crime-fighting. “Oh, no. Nothing like that. Just some meetings with professional colleagues. Building international cooperation and all that.”

“Well, if they bring you here again, please let me know. I’d be more than happy to show you around,” he replied, handing her his card and bowing slightly before nodding to Draco and returning to his table.

“Was that smart?” Draco asked.

“What?”

“He knows pretty much everyone in this town. It wouldn’t occur to him to ask questions, but he might mention to your supposed colleagues that he ran into you.”

“Then it’s probably a good thing that I have a breakfast meeting with the Head of the New York branch of the American Aurors Association tomorrow morning.”

“You do?”

“What is it exactly you imagine I do for a living?” she smiled as she paused to take a bite of the squid pasta, which turned out to be much nicer than she had imagined from the name. “It’s not all reading reports, you know. Creating plausible covers for covert activities is standard operating procedure.”

“I see. All very cloak and dagger. I had no idea you lived such an exciting life.”

Hermione smiled wryly. “I’d hardly call it exciting. We’ll be discussing the possibility of an exchange training program. There will be endless meetings and reports and in the end we might actually have to implement it. It’s going to be a huge administrative headache.”

Draco looked startled. “You are doing all that just for me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I told you before, I’m doing it for Nicky.”

“So she can spend time with me. It comes to the same thing,” he replied, dismissively.

“No, it doesn’t. Look, you went so far as to read my shopping lists to be sure she was all right and you hadn’t even met her. You can’t even imagine how far I would go, what I would do to give my child what I think is best for her. Right now, the best thing I can do for her is to give her time with you. So I’m doing what I have to in order to make that possible.”

“Which means that you think her getting to know me is good for her. That sounds suspiciously like a vote of confidence.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “If you insist. So why are you doing this for me?”

“Doing what?”

She gestured vaguely with her chopsticks. “This. The fancy restaurant, the new clothes, my brand of toothpaste. You are making quite the effort, here.”

Draco tilted his head and studied her from under furrowed brows. “You are giving up entire weekends and you think it’s a big deal that I got you toothpaste?”

Hermione plucked a perfect piece of lobster tempura off her plate and waved it at him. “This is a lot more than just toothpaste.”

“Not really. Not for me, anyway.”

“I’ll grant you the price of dinner isn’t going to hurt you, but I’m sure there are other people you would rather be spending your time with.”

“You’ve given me something very precious. Something I didn’t think I would ever have. I wanted to do something nice for you. That’s all.” He didn’t think it necessary to point out that he was making a conscious effort to butter her up so she would keep up the visits.

Hermione smiled. It was not often that anyone showed her appreciation. “You’re welcome.”

Draco sniffed. If she wanted to take that as some kind of an implied statement of gratitude, well, it was not an unreasonable interpretation.

…

When Hermione went down to breakfast the next day, dressed in the linen outfit she had arrived in, Akio took one look at her and marched her back up to her room. “That might do in London, but you are not going to a meeting in Manhattan in that shmatta, girlfriend. I couldn’t live with myself,” he muttered, pulling several different garments out of the closet before making his choices. “There. Put those on.” A bit more rummaging around brought out a pair of simple black pumps and a matching leather case. A trip to the dresser brought out neutral-toned knee-high hose.

Hermione managed not to giggle until Akio left her alone. Of course, once she was dressed she had to admit that she looked a lot better. He had given her a neatly tailored, pale grey pantsuit. The smooth, almost silky fabric had a bit of give in it and the trousers zipped up to a bandless finish just below her waist; a quick experiment confirmed that she could sit and even squat without the uncomfortable bunching that had driven her away from structured trousers in the first place. She was pleased to see that the jacket was long enough to cover her effectively, but instead of her favored square shape, it curved in gently at the waist before flaring out to cover her hips. A simple, dark pink silk shell peeked out at the neckline, providing a hint of colour, but slash pockets and a row of pearly-grey buttons were the only accessories. With the pumps on her feet and the case over her shoulder, she looked elegantly professional.

“Better, darling. Much better,” Akio declared, as she went into breakfast the second time.

…

When they got back to London that evening, Hermione gave Nicky a video to watch and went to unpack. She wasn’t really surprised to find that the clothes she had brought with her to New York were nowhere to be found, replaced with a couple of neat, beautifully styled pantsuits, several silk blouses, and the lovely cream ensemble.

 

* For readers without children, the Leapster is a handheld electronic game-like system that teaches beginning reading and arithmetic. It is wildly popular among the 5-year-old set in most English-speaking countries.


	5. Chapter 5

When Hermione brought Nicky for her next visit, she and Draco explained the plan to Akio. As they talked, he pulled out a pad and began taking notes. Hermione looked to see what he was writing. At the top of page, underlined and circled, he had written “TIMING -- EXPOSURE.” Down the lefthand side of the page a list headed “Shopping” that included “outfits,” “makeup,” “gifts,” and “SHOES!” On the right, “Legal Options:” headed a list that included property, employment, false imprisonment?, kidnapping?, and FRAUD!

When they were finished, Akio thought for a moment. “I have some questions, but I want to start with you, Dollface. Are you going to be able to control the information flow at your end?”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“I’m just trying to figure out how careful we need to be about who we get to handle the inquiry from here. If you can control what gets out, we hire the best, sharpest lawyers in town and make sure everyone knows it. Then we build up a big story that Boss-man here is trying to get back in by hook or by crook. This helps us build the gossip mill. If you can’t, we use the company lawyer - he can do the paperwork, but this isn’t his area of specialty. We make it a casual, low-key opening gambit instead of an all-out assault on fortress Britain.”

“I’ll control it.”

Akio’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper as he asked, “Can you tell us how, or is that top-secret Auror business?”

“Nothing like that,” Hermione explained, shaking her head. “Kingsley knows about Nicky.” That part of the story had come as no surprise to Akio, even though Nicola’s hair and eyes had both darkened, so that she no longer looked as much like her father as she had when she was a toddler. “I’ll just tell him that I’m worried about what might get turned up if someone looks too closely and he’ll let me handle it myself.”

“So, assault on fortress Britain it is!” Akio declared, rubbing his hands together in glee. “Now, how hard do we go after this guy? The way I see it, we can go all the way back to the original agreement and argue that Boss-man here should never have seen the inside of a cell. We’d lose that one, but it would give us leverage on the other issues and give us a chance to push the hard-done-by war hero angle. I figure character rehabilitation is the real key to all of this, so everything we do will have to play into that. We start with the legal angle, get the ball rolling there, and then get you two little lovebirds onto the social circuit.”

Hermione smiled at Akio. “You’re really not just a pretty face, are you?”

Draco snorted. “I didn’t hire him for the entertainment value.”

“That I give you for free,” Akio replied with a smirk. “So, we’re going to need a firm that handles criminal law as well as property.”

Hermione looked over Akio’s list. “We can’t do all this. Once you make charges like this, there is going to have to be a thorough investigation. I can control what happens in a simple inquiry, but you’re talking about serious criminal charges. This has too much potential to spiral out of control. The more I think about it, we need to stick with a low-key approach. Maybe just a letter from a solicitor asking what steps Draco would need to take to have his parole ended.”

Akio slowly drew a line through his “Legal Options” list, but his downcast expression disappeared when Hermione continued to explain. “Once the question has been asked, Harry and I can guide the response on the other end.”

“Harry?” Akio managed to draw the name out to at least five syllables even while fluttering his eyelashes. He figured that should be worth a few extra points for style.

“Yes. You will be working on a project with the amazing Harry Potter. Try not to piss yourself.” Draco’s voice positively dripped with sarcasm.

“Oh! My! GOD!!! Why didn’t you tell me?” He jumped up out of his chair and started dancing around the room, waving his arms above his head and exclaiming, “I’m working with Harry Potter!” over and over.

“What is that he’s doing?” Hermione asked.

“I think it’s called squicking. Or swee-ing. Something like that.”

“Will it be over soon?”

“We can only hope.”

Akio dropped back into his chair, making a big show of fanning himself. “It’s ‘squeeing’, you silly man. Now. Just tell me. Please, please, please, please, please tell me that Ronald Weasley is involved as well.”

Draco let his head drop down towards his knees and eyed the floor despairingly. “I don’t know how much of this I can take,” he groaned.

“You can take that as a yes,” Hermione explained to Akio wryly. “Draco and Ron are not exactly the best of friends.”

“Can we get back to the matter at hand?” Draco asked.

Akio straightened up in his seat. “Right. OK. The big question for phase one is going to be timing. How long do we have to construct this courtship? Are we going for a whirlwind romance or a building friendship?”

Hermione pointed to his shopping list and suggested, “Maybe you should explain that first.”

Akio stared at her. “Props, Dollface. No one is going to believe you two are together if you don’t look the part. We need to project the right kind of image. Don’t you undercover operatives do that all the time?”

“We are usually aiming for inconspicuous. I would be happy with the work clothes you got me last time, but I rather suspect that you have something a little different in mind.”

“Oh, honey. You ain’t seen nothing yet. I am going to turn you into a proper little princess.”

It was Hermione’s turn to drop her head down and stare at the floor.

Of course Akio was right. She remembered back in Hogwarts hearing Lavender and Parvati talking about Draco’s school robes. Most students’ parents bought oversized robes that were not replaced until their children had completely outgrown them. The Malfoys took Draco to Madame Malkin’s every August and over Christmas break, ensuring that he always had perfectly fitted robes. Even now, as an adult, the one thing Draco always commented on, every time he saw her, was her appearance. There was no way she could pass as Draco’s girlfriend if she were not dressed impeccably.

“I feel like an overgrown Barbie doll,” she groaned.

Draco just smiled.

…

After Akio left for the evening, Draco opened a bottle of wine to toast their conspiracy.

“Does it really bother you that much that Harry and Ron are involved?”

“I find it a bit off-putting that I will, even in part, owe the reclaiming of my property to Weasley. But I can see that the three of you make a good team. At Hogwarts, we all figured you were the brains of the operation and the other two were just along to provide muscle.”

“Hardly. I’m the researcher. Give me a topic and I’ll find every available bit of information. Harry is more of an intuitive thinker. He picks out which are the key pieces of the puzzle and solves them. Ron,” she paused, smiling fondly. “Ron plays at being the big, dumb lug, but he’s really good at thinking outside the box. It’s why he’s so good at chess. I think through all the possible variations, Harry focuses on getting his strongest pieces into the action, but Ron sees all the pieces, including the little pawn at the edge of the board that no one else notices until it suddenly becomes a queen. We each have different strengths, but put us together and we are pretty much unbeatable.”

“I don’t know that I would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself. It was… educational. Don’t ever tell Weasley I said so, but I am very pleased that you are all on my side this time.”

…

Two days later, an owl arrived for the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was sent by a lawyer working for Draco Malfoy who wanted information on what conditions would need to be met to lift his client’s probationary status.

Kingsley Shacklebolt stood in the doorway of Hermione Granger’s office. “Do you have a minute?”

“For my boss? I think I can manage one or two,” she replied. “What is it?”

Kingsley closed the door and cast a silencing spell on the room before taking a seat. “Draco Malfoy is back,” he declared.

“What?” Hermione’s surprise was genuine. Draco was supposed to be in New York waiting for wheels to turn. What did he mean, “back”?

“Not back in town, at least not yet, but back in our lives.”

That was better. “That’s interesting. I actually ran into him when I had that meeting in New York, but he didn’t seem to be up to anything suspicious at the time.”

Kingsley passed her the letter, which she studied carefully, noticing that the lawyer had stuck closely to the language that she, Draco, and Akio had discussed. “Would you mind if I handled this? At least at the beginning. I’d like to know what we are dealing with before word starts to get out.”

Kinsley smiled. “I thought you might. That’s why I brought it to you. Take a look round and see what you come up with, then let me know. I think we can keep all the communication verbal for the moment. Just be sure you can recreate a paper trail if it becomes necessary.”

Hermione nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“How’s she doing, anyway? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“She’s fine.” Hermione sat back in her chair. “Growing up too fast, of course. She’s a clever little thing, too.”

“Well, that’s no surprise.” Kingsley got up to leave, but before he did he added, “You let me know if there is anything you need, you hear? Anything at all.”

“Thank you, Kingsley. I’m fine. I don’t need anything.”

“No. You never do, do you?”

…

“Hermione Granger to see Draco Malfoy,” she told the receptionist. The next step of the ruse involved an official meeting where Hermione represented the Ministry. She had explained to Kingsley that there were some serious irregularities in the case file and that, were Draco to get pushy, the Ministry of Magic would find itself in a highly embarrassing position. The purpose of this meeting was, ostensibly, to try to convince Draco not to get pushy.

The receptionist ushered Hermione into Draco’s spacious, lavishly decorated office. “Very nice, for someone who doesn’t actually have to work for a living,” she commented, after the door was closed behind her.

Draco smiled. “I need somewhere to meet business associates. I don’t actually come here very often, but the rest of the suite gets used. Akio has the office next door and we have two accountants and an investment manager down the hall. Would you like a tour?”

“Maybe later. We have to stay here long enough to make it look like a delicate negotiation. This is where I explain to you that, while we are within our rights to keep you on probation forever, in appreciation of your important contribution to the war effort, we are inclined to be generous. As per my instructions, I offer the return of your right to practice magic and access to your Gringotts accounts, but you insist on getting back the family home. I tell you I’m not authorized to discuss that. You hold firm. I agree to go back for further instructions. It should take about two hours.”

“So what do we do for two hours?”

Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out an oddly patterned box. “Have you ever played Scrabble?” she asked.

…

When Hermione gave her report to Kingsley, she added that she had gone to dinner with Draco the last time she had been in New York. “After yesterday’s meeting, we went out to dinner again.” She paused, pretending at nervousness. “The thing is, I think I may be the reason that he is interested in coming back to Britain. There seems to be a … spark between us.”

Kingsley stared at her. He thought he had seen and heard everything, but Hermione Granger speaking romantically about Draco Malfoy. That was one for the books. “Does he know about…?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. But I’m planning to tell him before things go any further.” She looked up at him, almost shyly. “I think you should put Harry on the case. I can’t trust myself to represent the Ministry fairly when I’m emotionally involved.”

Kingsley nodded mutely. Hermione Granger was feeling emotional. About a man. And the man was Draco Malfoy. He was going to need a very stiff drink as soon as he got off duty.

…

Hermione left Nicky with her parents overnight for her first official ‘date’ with Draco. A prominent Manhattan socialite was throwing a party to announce her daughter’s engagement. The New York Oracle would be sending a reporter and a photographer to cover the event and not just any reporter: Hedda Hopper herself. Hermione nearly found herself giggling when Akio made that announcement. She remembered the day her mother had discovered that the famed Hollywood gossip columnist was not only a Witch, but alive and well and gossiping in Manhattan.

“Are you certain that she’ll think we’re important enough to write about?” Hermione asked.

“Absolutely. Boss-man makes the society pages every time he goes out in public.”

“Really? I didn’t realize he was that famous.”

“Oh, he’s not just famous. He’s sought after. Rich, handsome, elusive, single wizard with a dark past and a sexy British accent seeking love in the Big Apple – they eat that stuff up.”

“Elusive?”

Akio smirked. “Boss-man doesn’t like crowds. He goes to just as many events as he has to if he wants to keep his current lady-friend sweet.”

Hermione smirked back. “Well, that’s good. I’m pleased to know that this little charade of ours is going to be almost as excruciating for him as it will for me.”

It was all going well until Akio presented her with her costume for the evening. Hermione took one look at the narrowly cut, very short skirt and said, “No.”

“Yes, Dollface. Yes, yes, yes! Trust me, you’ll look fabulous.”

“No.”

Akio laid the clothes carefully on the bed and placed his hands on his hips. “Are you seriously standing in front of me telling me that you know better than I do what you should wear?”

“No. I’m standing in front of you telling you that I won’t wear a skirt,” she replied with perfect aplomb.

“Now look, darling. This is a society cocktail party. You are not going in pants. If there’s something wrong with your legs we can fix that. I have Glamour charms…”

Hermione dropped into a fighting stance and threw out a few quick side kicks before whirling around in a flying roundhouse that left her foot a scant inch from Akio’s left ear. “No. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with my legs.”

Akio pressed his hands to his heart. “That was, without question, the single sexiest thing I have ever seen from a woman. Oh. My. God. You really are Heroine Hermione.” When Hermione failed to respond by so much as twitching a muscle, other than the one in her left eyebrow, he reached up to gently lower her leg to the ground. “I got it. No skirts.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “I’ll see what I can find.”

He was back in just a few minutes. “I was going to put you in this for a casual dinner sometime. It doesn’t have the pizzazz for a party,” he sniffed.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Hermione replied as she patted his shoulder.

“I just want you to look beautiful, honey. You deserve the best.”

The flowing, wide-legged pants were stretchy enough to be comfortable. The matching, ice-blue silk sweater cut wide across her shoulders and then dropped straight past her hips, where side slits ensured that the fabric would not bunch up. Swirling bands of beadwork in a slightly deeper shade of blue traced the neckline out to the shoulder seams and circled the cuffs. By the time she was dressed, Akio was back with a jewelry box containing a simple rope of pearls that knotted just below her breastbone and clustered pearl earrings to match. He pushed her over to the vanity and sat her down.

“If you won’t show off your gorgeous gams, we’ll give them something else to look at,” he declared, pulling her hair out of its sensible bun.

It had been years since Hermione had been out in public with her hair anywhere other than in a knot on the back of her head. As a consequence, she had seen no great need to cut it and, once unwound, it fell past her waist. “Now this I can work with.”

 

As he started working on her hair, gently teasing the strands and adding potions one curl at a time, Hermione asked if he was sure he knew what he was doing. “Are you kidding Dollface? I used to work at Ted Gibson.”

“Is there anywhere you haven’t worked?”

“You want the life story?”

“I seem to have some time.”

“Ok. So it all starts when I bring home my first boyfriend. My pure-blood, narrow-minded asshole of a father throws me out on the street and swears never to speak my name again.”

“No! Tell me he didn’t.”

“He did. It happens all the time, sweetie. What, you thought just because wizards wear dresses they don’t care if you shtup other men? Fuggedaboutit. Anyway, my boyfriend had some Muggle friends who helped me get a fake ID and a job as a bellboy at the Four Seasons. I worked my way up to concierge, but I didn’t like the hotel biz. Too many hours on your feet, too many late nights. I was young, I wanted my evenings free to party, you know what I’m saying, right?” He stepped back and did a little shimmy of a dance step in front of her.

“Yes. I understand the concept of dancing,” she replied, rolling her eyes at his foolishness.

“Feh. Pearls before swine, I don’t know why I bother,” he muttered cheerfully as he went back to work on her hair. “So I took some classes and got my hairdresser’s license. You know, working as a concierge you get to know a lot of people. I had a contact at Ted Gibson. He got me an apprenticeship and six months later I was cutting and curling for the rich and famous.”

“Ok. So how did you get to Saks?”

“More contacts. You meet everyone as a hairdresser: celebrities, politicians, lawyers, you name it, if they have money, they go to a hairdresser. And when they’re sitting in your chair, they talk. One of my regulars was a buyer at Saks. Gorgeous man, had the most amazing hands…”

“Ahem. Are we moving into another one of those too-much-information areas?” Hermione interjected.

Akio rolled his eyes. “What? You want the boring version? I can be so much more than that, honey. I have stories like you wouldn’t believe. No?”

Hermione waited patiently.

“All right, no.” He moved around to the other side of her chair to reach the rest of her hair. “So anyway, we start talking about his job. Pretty soon, I’m reading the fashion magazines and we’re dissing the latest lines together. He decides I have a flair for the business and I’m getting bored with hairdressing, so long story short, he gets me the job at Saks. The whole time I never stopped taking classes and by my mid-twenties, I’ve got a business degree from City College but I haven’t been near a wand or seen a spell cast in ten years. So one day I went to The Sixth Borough, you know? The magical part of the city?”

Hermione nodded.

“Just to look around. I only had a few years of magical training, so I was pretty much as useless as a Squib, but I knew everyone who was anyone in Manhattan, I could get tickets to any show, reservations at any restaurant, and I could figure out how to get the most outrageous looking wizard to pass in the Muggle world. Turns out there are a lot of witches and wizards in New York who need those services. I took out an ad in The Oracle and started taking clients. Couple of years later, Boss-man comes along and decides he wants me full-time. So here I am. And voila, here you are.” He turned her so she could see herself in the mirror. Instead of her usual, uncontrolled mass of frizz, she had a tousled mane of glorious curls. He stepped back and caught his breath. “Stunning. Just stunning. He’ll be drooling so hard, he’ll need a bucket.”

“Hardly,” Hermione snorted, though she had to admit it did look nice.

…

Draco looked up from the chair where he had been reading to his daughter. “Ready to leave?”

Akio smacked him across the back of the head, earning a confused glare from Draco. Akio gestured towards Hermione.

“You look good,” he told her, but ruined any impact the compliment might have had by turning back to Akio and asking, “Are you happy now?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Then things are as they should be,” Draco retorted, heading for the front door with Hermione trailing behind him.

“Wait!” Akio demanded.

“What now?” Draco growled.

“Touching. You two need to be touching.”

“We know,” Hermione assured him. “We’ll start when we get there.”

“Oh, right. And it will look sooo natural. You want to make people think you are together, you are going to have to practice. Boss-man,” he pointed at Draco. “Touch the lady. Now!”

Draco glared at him. “Because this is sooo much more natural?”

Hermione put a hand on his arm. “He has a point. We should give it a try.”

Draco shrugged his acquiescence and turned to her, reaching out to cup her face in his hand. She thought he was going in for a kiss and moved towards him, leaving him grabbing awkwardly at the ends of her hair.

“See? What did I tell you? OK. We’re going to have to work on some moves.”

After thirty minutes of practicing, Akio finally let them go, though he warned them that there was still a lot of work to do. “Remember, kids. Eye-crinkles. Every time you smile, every time you glance at each other. Eye-crinkles and casual touching. Never take your hands off each other.”

“You do look good,” Draco whispered as they left the house. “Just don’t tell Akio I said so.”

…

As per Akio’s instructions, they spent the first hour and a half inside mingling with the other guests before going out onto the balcony to stage a romantic moment. It was less crowded there, to be sure, but hardly empty. They found a clear spot by the railing and were making idle chit chat as they waited for Hedda to follow them out, when Ailish approached them.

“Drakie, darling. How marvelous to see you,” she exclaimed while turning to make sure the moonlight highlighted her barely contained breasts. Draco had broken up with her as soon as he had signed on to the plan. After all, he could hardly pretend to be falling for Hermione while he was still seeing Ailish. He had done it so gently, though, that she thought there might still be a chance. She eyed the short, understated woman he had brought with him and dismissed her as unimportant. No one that plain could possibly qualify as competition. “Who is your little friend?”

She lost her composure briefly when Draco introduced Hermione, but she recovered quickly. Famous, she decided, was less important than beautiful, and she knew she was the hands-down winner in that category. “What do you think?” she asked Hermione, gesturing to the panorama of Fifth Avenue spread out below them, turning quickly enough to make sure her skirt flared just that little bit higher on her perfectly toned legs. “Of course, it doesn’t really compare to the view of the park from Drakie’s place.” She doubted this little interloper had ever been to Draco’s penthouse. She had to be a pity date or some kind of business obligation.

“I wouldn’t know,” Hermione replied in as friendly a tone as she could muster for this vision of female desirability. It was patently unfair for anyone to have legs that long in public and those cheekbones belonged in a museum where they could put all other cheekbones to shame by their mere existence. “I’ve never been to his Manhattan place. Just the house on Long Island.”

The timing couldn’t have been better. Hedda Hopper and her photographer had just come out onto the balcony and caught every word of Hermione’s comment along with Ailish’s gasp of shock.

Draco smiled and moved to stand closer to Hermione, wrapping his arm around her so the heel of his hand rested on her hipbone and his fingers cradled the bare hint of a curve that was her stomach, just the way they had practiced. “Did you need a refill, love?” he asked her, completely ignoring his ex. Ailish spun on her heel and stalked off just as the camera flashed, capturing Draco fondling Hermione as his ex fled the scene.

Draco leaned down and whispered into Hermione’s ear, looking for all the world as if he were whispering sweet nothings, “I think we just made the cover shot!”

She turned in his arms and placed her hands in their positions on his chest, tilting her head up at precisely the correct angle to gaze adoringly at him as she asked, “Did I say something wrong?”

“Not at all,” he replied, putting his champagne flute on the stone balustrade so he could hold her in both arms. “The house on the Island is my private space. I don’t take my girlfriends there, at least I haven’t done until now. Every eligible witch in New York is going to be speculating about what it means before the night is over.” Then he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers.

The camera flashed again, so she allowed the kiss to continue for a moment longer before turning her head to rest it on his chest. “I don’t think there is much more we can do here. Can we call it a night?”

…

The money shot with Ailish did, indeed, make the front page. Inside, their images kissed and cuddled under a headline which read, “Heroine Steals Hunk’s Heart.”

…

Rather than fight it out one outfit at a time, Hermione sat down with Akio to discuss her wardrobe preferences.

“I understand about the pants, Dollface, I do. But there is no reason you have to wear sacks. I got you some gorgeous little silk camisoles and this one off-the-shoulder number…”

“No, Key. I won’t wear that stuff.”

“Why not?” he demanded. “You have some kind of problem with being a woman? Because you are, sweetheart. A gorgeous young woman. You should be showing yourself off, not hiding it all away.”

“I know I’m a woman, just not that kind of woman. I might have been once, but things changed during the war. I’m a fighter.”

“What? And a fighter can’t go home and put on a negligee and play sex-kitten?”

“Not if I want to keep my focus, and some days keeping focus is the difference between living and dying. I’m attractive enough. I get plenty of offers from men who appreciate me the way I am; I don’t need to bother with the ones who don’t.”

Akio raised one very skeptical eyebrow.

“Really. I get asked out.”

“Then why don’t you go out?”

“Because I’m a single mother with a very demanding job,” she explained. “Nicky is still young enough to need the security of a strong parental presence. Between her and my work, I don’t have time to date. When she gets older and more independent, I’ll see what comes along.”

“These men who ask you out, what are they like?” he asked suspiciously.

“Soldiers of one kind or another, mostly. Men I fought with during the war, Aurors, the occasional politician, people like that. The head of the American Auror’s Association asked if I was available.”

“He didn’t! The nerve of him!”

“Why? Because I’m pretending to date Draco? I wasn’t then. And really, the nerve of you. You sit here telling me I should try to make myself more attractive to men and then you get all huffy when you find out that a man was interested in me.”

“I’m telling you to make yourself more attractive to Boss-man, Sugar, not other men. My little Nick-knack needs her family together, and you two were meant for each other.”

“No, Key. We weren’t. You are going to have to trust me on this one. Nicola was an accident. A wonderful, miraculous accident, but you can’t base a family on an accident. I am willing to make an effort to look acceptable to Draco, but I can only go so far. I won’t make a fool of myself by trying to compete with society fashion-plates. You are going to have find a look that works for both me and Draco.”

…

On their second date, they went to a concert by the New York Philharmonic in Central Park. It was the weekend, so Hermione brought Nicky to New York. Akio had gotten them seats in the front row of the raised grandstand in front of the stage. It was charmed to be invisible to Muggle eyes, of course, with the support poles cleverly disguised as signposts. The ticket holders all gathered for drinks and nibbles at the Tavern on the Green until their tickets turned into Portkeys and took them directly to their seats. Hedda was at the restaurant and Hermione and Draco dutifully performed for the camera, playing the loving couple to the hilt.

“Can we stop mauling each other now?” Hermione whispered as they settled in the plush loveseat that was theirs for the evening and waited for the concert to start.

“Nice word choice, that; I can’t tell you how flattered I am. But no, not a chance. Why do you think we’re in the front row?” he replied, reaching an arm out to pull her against him. She slipped easily into position, leaning against his side.

“That went well.” Draco was relieved; they had not thought to practice that particular manoeuver.

“I’ve had more practice at this.”

“And not the other?” Draco kept his voice low to avoid being overheard, but his confusion was evident. “How many years have you been with Potter? Are you telling me that the man never touches you?”

“Why would you think that I’m with Harry?” she asked, defensively.

“He goes to your apartment at least once a week and stays until early morning. I’m pretty sure that the two of you do more than play Exploding Snap.”

“Do you have any idea how creepy it is that you know that?”

“I thought we’d covered that ground already; you referred to it as ‘caring’. And you still haven’t explained why you are unfamiliar with ‘mauling’.”

Hermione blushed. “Harry and I… we keep that part of our lives private. When we are out in public together we are just friends. And friends don’t publicly maul each other.” She certainly was not going to explain to Draco that she and Harry were just fuck-buddies. That was none of his business.

"And you expect me to believe that he never touches you in private?"

"Not..." How by all that was holy was she going to get out of this one with her pride intact? "Not standing up."

Draco barely managed not to flinch. The image of Hermione and Potter throwing themselves on each other, too desperate to even pause for a gentle kiss or a cuddle, was not one he wanted in his mind. Knowing that they were still that passionate towards one another after all this time only made him feel worse about the fact that they would be denying themselves for his sake.

“I don’t think I wanted to know that,” was all he said.

“Then you shouldn’t have asked.” She smiled, confident that the true nature of her relationship with Harry was now safe from his inquisitive, prying mind. Of course, if he compared notes with Akio, she was a dead woman, but they didn’t seem to have the kind of relationship that included gossiping.

Cuddling with Draco was surprisingly comfortable, she realized, tucking her feet up to the side as she listened to the first strains from the violin section. He was just the right height that she could fit under his arm without hunching and her head fell naturally into the hollow of his shoulder. She hoped her hair wasn’t tickling his chin too badly, as Akio had insisted that she wear it down again.

Nicola had been very confused by this. “Mummy, your hair fell down!” she had said. “You can’t go out like that. It’s all messy.”

At least her outfit wasn’t too bad. Since it was a casual, outdoor event, Akio had put her in rust-coloured, flowing pyjama-style pants with a matching jacket over a simple black silk shell. A string of chunky, earth-toned beads was the only accessory.

They stayed that way throughout the entire concert. Draco paid less attention to the music than he might have otherwise as her soft curls caressed his neck and the scent of the potions Akio had put in her hair pervaded the air around him. She was smaller than any of the women he had dated, but then again, he had never sat with any of them the way he was doing with her. He decided that had been a mistake and that he would try a bit more cuddling with his next girlfriend.

…

When they got back, Hermione bade the two men goodnight and went to check on Nicky. The little girl had managed to fall asleep lying across the bed, with her head and one arm hanging off the side. After rearranging her daughter and covering her up, Hermione headed towards her own room only to find Akio waiting for her in the hall.

“His bedroom is the last one on the left. I’ll give you time to settle in before I send him up,” he whispered, conspiratorily.

She looked at him in puzzlement and shook her head. “You can’t possibly imagine that I’m his type, can you? Are you actually starting to believe your own propaganda?” She turned into her own room.

Akio found Draco sitting and staring into the fire. “You aren’t going to win the fair maiden sitting on your backside, you know. Go to her!”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, but he stayed where he was. “Try not to be any more ridiculous than is absolutely necessary. That is not within the realm of possibilities.”

“Humph. It was obviously possible once.” Akio waved a finger at Draco. “And don’t try pretending you prefer the little bimbos you’ve been making do with. You know…”

Whatever Akio thought that Draco knew was cut off by a very, very angry master of the house stalking towards his suddenly nervous personal assistant. “You. Do not. Want. To go. There.”

Draco made it to his room before the images caught up with him. He kept his eyes open hoping the light would drown them out, but they were stronger than the light. Her face, below him, grimacing in pain as he forced all his fear, his anger, and his frustration into her mind with his ranting and into her body with his cock. The way she shook as she fumbled her way back into her clothes; he had tried to look away, to pretend he hadn’t noticed, but she’d been there, at the periphery of vision, trembling in silence. Not rape, but only by the grace of a technicality. No. There was no way you could ever come back from that. Why would he even want to? She had given him what he wanted – no, needed – most. But then there were other images flooding his mind. The way she had looked in the moment just before their lips met. Her ease at Nobu, completely out of her element and yet utterly in place. The feel of her in his arms as he had held her that very evening. He headed for the bathroom. Maybe a hot shower would help clear his mind and let him relax enough to sleep.

…

Hermione’s bath was filled. She gave up all pretense of wanting nothing more than a relaxing soak when she took her wand into the en suite with her and cast a complex charm of her own invention on the spigot. After spending the last few hours being touched and cuddled, it was only natural that she felt the need for something more.

She slid into the bath and laid back, knees raised, feet flat, stretching her arms forward as far as they could comfortably reach. Her hands slowly stroked along her thighs, caressing back and forth over her own flesh until they reached the tangle of curls between her legs. They only paused there for a moment, teasing the hairs apart to clear the path, before sliding up over her abdomen to cup her breasts. She loved the way they felt; mostly submerged they were firmer and more pert than usual, obliterating the faint stretch marks and sagging left by long months of feeding her baby the way nature intended. Gentle strokes along the sides and over the tops had their usual effect, leaving her hard nipples pointing straight up at the ceiling. It always amused her to look down and see herself that way – nothing showing above the water but two nipple-bearing islands of warm flesh and spread legs.

It was time. She let go of one breast and waved at the spigot. The charm let her adjust the flow of the water with nothing more than simple hand movements. Once she had it aligned properly, she let her hand fall back onto her breast and with both hands began rolling her nipples between her fingers. A steady stream of water pulsed gently between her legs. All she had to do to was tilt her hips to change the angle of where it hit, up and down her slit, from the opening to just below the clitoris to start. That felt good. She began tweaking her nipples a bit harder, building the pressure to achieve that delicious ache that spread down into her groin. A downward tilt, this time with a rotating motion, and the water danced in a circle around her clitoris. She liked that, the indirect pressure as the backwash from the jet brushed across her most sensitive spot.

She decided to hurry things along, lifting her hips back up to let the water wash up and down, stroking her delicate inner folds as she released one tightly furled peak just long enough to wave at the spigot, doubling the pressure of the stream. Grasping her breasts firmly from underneath, she slowly slid her hands upwards, holding on tightly until she was pulling her breasts away from her body by the nearly painful nipples she held pinched between her fingers and palms. She repeated the motion, over and over, pulling harder each time as she shifted to let the pulsing water penetrate her opening. As the sensations built, she began thrusting her pelvis, up and down, switching back and forth between penetrating jets, thrusting deep inside her and hard, forceful pressure directly on her clitoris, until her climax overtook her and she froze, keeping the pressure on her clitoris as her forceful contractions expelled the water from her inner passage.

…

All he needed was a little physical release. Prison was the last time he had gone this long without a good shag. Not that they’d ever been all that good. Left to his own devices, as he was now, Draco liked it hard and rough. He was far too much of a gentleman to ever impose his perverse tastes on the women he dated; they got long, slow, creative sexual encounters that left him physically fulfilled but never quite sated. As the hot water ran down his body, he indulged in the fantasy of hands grabbing roughly at his body. His own tugged and pinched at his nipples as he imagined teeth biting into his flesh hard enough to leave bruises. His erection rose up, strong and proud, slapping against his belly as he thrust his hips. A quick flick of his hand at the wall and the charmed soap dish transformed into an opening, slick and hot and just the right height. He plunged into it in a single, well practiced motion, grabbing the specially reinforced showerhead for leverage and sucking in his breath as he felt the device tighten around him, milking his throbbing cock as he fucked the wall, slamming his hips into the tile with bone-jarring force, harder and harder until, “NOooooo!”

He came, as he always did on his own, with that image in his mind. This had never bothered him before; it suited the near-violence of his self-pleasuring. That all-consuming rage that reduced him to a snarling, vicious animal had first appeared on the battlefield. It had taken him over that day with Granger in the forest and every time he had brought himself off since then. Around his girlfriends he managed to control himself by never really letting go, with the one exception of the time he’d nearly brutalized Ailish.

As long as Granger was still the stone-cold bitch who had ruined his life, at least in his mind, he’d thought it appropriate that he climaxed picturing the look she had worn the moment he had taken her virginity. Taking pleasure in her pain made him a sick fuck, he knew that, but he had never really doubted that he was one. Besides, if there was anyone who deserved that pain it was she.

That had been how he felt before. Now she was… what, exactly? His friend, maybe. And you don’t use your friend’s pain to feed your perverted desires. There was something very wrong about associating violent lust and brutality with a woman you had held in your arms just an hour ago and kissed in the moonlight a few days earlier. Draco groaned and slammed his head back onto the tiled wall. He was going to have to get control over his sexual fantasies or go months without any form of release at all.

…

The next morning, Akio cornered Hermione. “I may just work around here, but I can see what is going on. What is it with the two of you? Can you give me one good reason you are not playing hide-the-salami every chance you get?”

“Trust me, Key. It would never work.”

“Oh, really?” He folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow at her. “I may not be making deposits in the gene pool, but I think I comprehend the basic biology. Obviously it worked for you once.”

Hermione replied, wearily, “Your biology may be up to scratch, but I’m guessing you didn’t do that well in either history or math.”

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“You figure it out. How old is Nicky and when did the Second Voldemort War end?”

Akio took a moment to puzzle that one out. “So, Nicky happened when you were… and he was…?”

“Right. Not exactly your standard romance. In fact, not a romance at all.”

It was a rare event for Akio to look grim. “Did he …? No. Don’t answer that. I really need to leave this alone, don’t I?”

“Yes. You really do.”


	6. Chapter 6

It was two weeks later and Draco was enjoying a double espresso at a Starbucks down the block from the Port Authority at 8:00 on Saturday morning, as Hermione’s owl had instructed. He was just raising his cup to his mouth when his elbow was jostled, spilling the coffee on his shirt.

“Hey, sorry about that, man,” his assailant said, grabbing some napkins off a nearby table and trying to help mop up the mess. “That’s gonna stain. Let me pay you for a new one.”

Draco eyed the young man skeptically. From the cut of the cargo pants, which hung so low that they seemed to be clinging to his bum by the grace of the gods and little else, and the faded T-shirt extolling the virtues of some obscure rock band, Draco doubted the lad could afford the coffee, much less the shirt. The string of chunky beads around his neck, the black-and-white checked bandanna on his head, and the silver hoop dangling from one ear did nothing to improve Draco’s assessment, though they did make him wonder if there was some new pirate fashion he was unaware of. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“No. Really, man. I feel terrible. It would be in your best interests to let me help you.”

The odd phrasing caught Draco’s attention, as did the hint of a British accent that he could have sworn had not been there before. He looked up at the steady green eyes and winced as the young man pushed his bandana back far enough on his forehead to reveal a familiar scar. Draco sighed and got up, heading down the street to find an empty alleyway. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I know. You probably weren’t expecting this either,” Harry replied in his usual voice, handing Draco his bandana.

The moment Draco’s hand touched the fabric he realized it was a Portkey. They appeared in a back garden. Draco looked up at the sun, high overhead. “Britain? Are you mad? Do you know what they can do to me for Portkeying into Britain?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Harry clapped him on the shoulder. “Untraceable Portkey. One of the perks of the job.”

“It had better be. I may not be able to get what I want out of the Ministry, but I can still make sure you never have children.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

…

Draco and Harry joined Hermione and Ron, sitting in comfortable wicker chairs and watching as Lavender kept the children entertained on the other side of the lawn.

“So who is it?” Draco asked.

“The Minister,” Hermione replied.

“What?” Draco sneered. “Why the fuck would Fudge try to pull a stunt like that? And when did he grow a spine? That man was in my father’s pocket for years. He wouldn’t have the balls to try something like this.”

“Which question would you like answered first?”

Draco thought. “Why.”

“It was the house.” This time it was Harry who spoke.

“Not the money?”

“No. As far as we can tell, every last Knut is still sitting in Gringotts earning interest. But he’s been using the house as his own, private love nest since you were locked up.”

“Love nest?” The incredulity dripped from his voice. “This is Cornelius Fudge you are talking about, right? You’re all mad as hatters if you think I’m going to buy that one.”

Hermione took over. “This might make more sense if you hear it from the beginning. We started with the legal papers – the court hearing, the agreement that you signed when you turned yourself in, and the agreement you were forced to sign when you got out. I went through everyone who should have been part of processing those documents. Normally, they would have gone through half a dozen different offices, including mine. The first agreement did, but almost none of those offices had records of ever having seen the court papers or the second agreement. So then I started looking at who could have made this happen without going through channels and turned up some interesting facts.

“For one thing, the judge who presided over the court hearing does not usually preside over criminal cases. He does family law. Now, the hearing happened when the criminal system was pretty well overloaded, so that wasn’t so unusual. But the same judge approved both of the agreements. Those agreements are between the petitioner, which is you, and the Ministry of Magic. The Ministry representative is technically appointed by the Head of the Division of Magical Law Enforcement. In practice, that just means that it is someone from the division, the Head rarely gets personally involved. For the judge to act as a representative of the Ministry, he had to have been personally appointed by the Head. The document authorizing his appointment was not in the file, but I managed to find it.”

“Should I ask how?” Draco inquired.

Hermione straightened up in her seat. “Are you asking me what methods the Head of the Auror Division would use to locate a deliberately misfiled document in the Records Section of the Division of Magical Law Enforcement without leaving a trace of her activities?”

Draco thought a moment. “No. I guess not.”

Hermione smiled. “I’m very glad to hear it. Let it suffice to say that Harry spent quite a few hours babysitting that week. Anyway, at that point I had two names: the judge and the previous Head of MLE, the one Kingsley replaced. In fact, signing off on that appointment was one of the Head’s last acts before he left. But that wasn’t enough. The Aurors who saw you off had instructions that did not originate in my office. I didn’t issue them and neither did Kingsley. That’s where Harry came in.”

Harry took over the story. “The first problem was figuring out who they were. There was no paperwork on a job to transfer a prisoner that day, or even that week. But they had to be real Aurors to have got through the security measures. So I sorted through all the case files for that week to see who wasn’t accounted for and only came up with four names. I’d taken a week off to help Hermione move offices and get through the transition process, but I was pretty sure I hadn’t done it.”

“Did you check?”

Harry stared at Draco’s deadpan expression for a moment before breaking into laughter. “No. I never did check on my own alibi.”

“Very sloppy work, Potter. Really Granger, do you let all your people base their work on such flimsy assumptions?” Draco asked, smirking.

“Remind me why we’re helping this git?” Harry asked with a grin.

“For Nicky. And because I asked you to,” Hermione replied, rolling her eyes even as she smirked at their antics.

“Right. So, of the three left, none matched the descriptions you gave Hermione, but we use Polyjuice a lot, so that didn’t mean anything. Two made an obvious pair. They were both new kids who’d joined since the war. Good kids, but not very seasoned. The other was an old hand, one of the top investigators. So I started with the kids. Invited one out for a drink after work and slipped him some Veritaserum.”

Draco raised an eyebrow as Harry casually admitted to breaking one of the Ministry’s more stringent laws, but no one else batted an eye.

“I asked him about the prison and he said he’d never been there, but he couldn’t tell me what he had done that day. He had a full, five-hour gap in his memory. It was neatly done, but if you really looked for it, it was obvious. I Obliviated him just enough to lose those ten minutes of conversation. The next day I went through the same process with the other one and found exactly the same gap.”

“That put it back in my lap,” Hermione continued. I had two Aurors who had not just bent the rules but shattered them. The question was whether they knew what they were doing at the time. We set up a series of ethics tests, trying to get them to bend the rules, but these guys are serious straight arrows.”

“Boring farts, if you ask me,” Ron interjected. “Couldn’t get them to sneeze sideways, though we had a bloody good time trying.”

“Yes. They are boring. But honest. I’m going to be pairing them up with Harry more often so they can learn the subtleties of finessing the system,” Hermione replied.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks. More babysitting. Can’t I just watch Nicky? She’s more fun.”

“No,” said Hermione just as Draco said, “Of course she is, she’s half Malfoy.”

Hermione pursed her lips in an effort not to smile at his little moment of arrogance. “I’m not sure I appreciate the implications of that statement. Anyway. If they wouldn’t bend the rules for Harry or me, I had to assume that they had been tricked. Then the question was, who could have got them false orders and made it believable? Someone familiar with Ministry forms with access to the seals. I won’t bore you with all the details, but I narrowed it down to one of two people. I got Harry to pull together files on both of them, along with the judge and the previous Head of MLE. Then I compared the files and lo and behold, three of the four shared a rather distinctive characteristic. The judge, the ex-Head and one of my forging suspects were all roommates at Hogwarts. When I pulled the school records, I found out they had just one other surviving roommate.”

“Fudge?” Draco asked.

“Right. The whole thing is looking like a conspiracy of old schoolmates, but for what? Harry started checking into their behaviours over the past eight years to see if we could find anything in their lifestyles that had changed significantly, either while you were in prison or since, but there was nothing obvious.”

“That’s where I came in,” Ron beamed. “I said they were going about it from the wrong end. If you want to catch a thief, follow the goods.”

Draco looked to Hermione, skeptically.

“He was right. The reason for changing the deal wasn’t personal, it wasn’t about you. It was about getting access to your property. Once we started looking from that angle, it started falling together.

“We have a source at Gringotts who confirmed that the money hadn’t been touched, but we couldn’t get to your house. For a supposedly abandoned property under the protection of the Ministry of Magic, it had some very unusual wards on it.”

“So I rode to the rescue, again,” Ron declared.

Draco snorted. Weasley’s attitude was getting very annoying.

Harry laughed. “He did, too. We were focusing on how to break in when he pointed out that, if anyone was doing anything in there, they had to be getting fed somehow.”

“I had a chat with some of the boys who deliver supplies to the pub,” Ron explained. His little drinking establishment in Hogsmeade had become a favorite watering hole for Quidditch players and celebrity seekers alike. “They asked round and, sure enough, came up with a lorry driver who’s been delivering supplies to your old place every week for the past five years. Mostly it’s just food and drink. But sometimes there’s other stuff. Around Christmas and a couple of other times a year he delivers loads of toys.”

“After that it was easy,” Hermione broke in. “Fudge disappears every Sunday after lunch and doesn’t get back home until after dinner. His wife thinks he’s on Ministry business, but it isn’t anything I could track down. The rest are all pretty well accounted for most of the time.”

“So you think Fudge is keeping a mistress and some kids in my house? How can you be sure?”

“We can’t, but you can,” Harry replied.

“How?”

“House-elves,” Ron replied, with such a smug grin that Draco just knew he’d been the one to figure it out. “If you had any, they’d still answer to you. They’ll know what has been happening in the house.”

Draco thought for a moment. “And that’s why you brought me here.”

“Exactly. You couldn’t call them from New York, but you can do from here. I assume you have some?” Hermione asked.

Draco smiled. It was not a happy smile. It had only just occurred to him that whoever was living in his house also had access to the Malfoy house-elves. He’d always been fond of the family servants; if they had been harmed, there would be serious repercussions. “Elf,” he called.

A house-elf appeared, looking startled but otherwise well. “Master Draco? I mean, Master Malfoy, of course. You is being Master Malfoy now, isn’t you? Is you coming home, Master Malfoy? Is you going to send away the nasty Mudbloods?”

“Soon, Mipsy.” Draco seemed relaxed. You had to look closely to notice that his eyes were narrowed just a bit and there was a vein quietly throbbing at his temple. “The nasty people, have they mistreated you?”

“Oh, Master Malfoy,” the little elf sobbed. “They is wanting us to be sitting with them at the table and eating with them! Proper wizards would never be asking us to do such horrible things.”

Draco relaxed. “This is Hermione Granger. You will answer all her questions.”

Draco played with Nicola and the little Weasleys while Hermione and Harry gently questioned the little elf and Ron went inside to help Lavender get supper. They ate outside and then let the kids play a little longer, enjoying the long, early summer evening. Lavender excused herself to clean up, leaving them to talk some more.

“What happens now?” Draco asked.

The three friends exchanged glances, but it was Harry who spoke.

“That’s up to you, mate. You want us to bring the full power of the law crashing down on their heads, just give the word. They certainly deserve it.”

Draco looked at their nervous faces. “Why do I get the feeling that you would rather I didn’t?”

“Because the Deputy Minister is Dolores Umbridge. If he goes down, we work for her,” Hermione replied.

Draco chuckled, mirthlessly. “I can see where that might be just the tiniest bit awkward. What are my other options?”

Hermione smiled. “Let me tell you about plan B …”


	7. Chapter 7

It was Kingsley who had to confront the Minister of Magic. Not that Kingsley had any idea what was going on. He knew that the problems with the case file were serious, and he knew that Malfoy was refusing to budge on his demand for the full return of all of his property. He just didn’t know why the Minister was resisting signing the papers.

In the end he had to tell Fudge in no uncertain terms that they had no choice. “His file is a mess. We have no clear documentation on how or why he was given probation and then exiled. If his legal counsel starts asking questions, not only will we end up giving him everything he has asked for, we’ll have a major scandal on our hands and probably owe him payment for damages as well. Or you can sign this and make the whole problem go away.”

Fudge signed.

…

It was good to be home. Draco had only been back in the family home in Wiltshire for a day, but already he felt better than he had in years.

Hermione took an afternoon off from work to meet with him and Akio to discuss what they would do next. She found Akio going over some notes. “I was surprised to hear that you came along to Britain. What about your relationship with Sam?”

Akio looked up. “Sam? Oh, please. I can do better much than that!”

Hermione sat down across from him. “That’s funny. The last time I heard about Sam he was the greatest thing that had ever happened to you. What happened?”

“You want to know what happened? I’ll tell you what happened. A fancy-pants smart-ass lawyer happened. … Right there in the middle of my living room, on my new carpet. Let me tell you, Honey, I hexed their big fat asses but good.”

“I thought you didn’t do magic?”

“Oh, you know me, Dollface, I’m always studying something. After I started working for Boss-man I got myself a tutor. I don’t do the big stuff, just hexes and charms.”

“I’m sorry about Sam.”

“Don’t be, Sweetheart. You know you and Nicky are my only true loves. Now I’m free to live in London, find me a lovely English lad and take care of my favourite girls.”

“And Draco.”

Akio grinned. “Him too. The poor boy would be lost without me.”

“It’s sad, really, how delusional he is,” Draco declared, walking in and catching the tail end of their conversation.

Akio stuck his tongue out at his employer before getting down to the business of working out the next step in their plans. “OK, we have the backstory all set up. Old schoolmates, met up during the war, saved the world, lost touch due to unfortunate circumstances…”

“Also known as incarceration and banishment,” Draco interjected with only a hint of bitterness.

“As I said, unfortunate circumstances,” Akio corrected. “Meet up again by chance and fall in love. He is so enamoured of his new ladylove that he changes his whole life for her, fighting to clear his name and return to his homeland so they can be together. That’s how far we’ve gotten. Now we move on to the next phase.”

“Which is?” Draco queried.

“Our darling Nick-Knack, of course,” Akio explained. It’s time to bring her into the picture.”

Draco looked confused. “I thought we were trying to keep her away from magic as long as possible? Can’t we just make this about me and Hermione?”

Hermione answered him. “We could, but then your relationship with Nicky ends when we call off our pretend romance. If we can establish a plausible, ongoing relationship between you and Nicky over the next few months separate from our relationship, then you can keep seeing her without raising any sort of suspicion.”

“When did this become part of the plan?”

Hermione looked at Akio who just shrugged. “It always was. Didn’t you realize?”

“No. I thought you were just trying to get me back to Britain so I could have visiting privileges without inconveniencing you.”

She noticed that he said privileges rather than rights. “Then why did you think we were staging this whole fake relationship?”

Draco rolled his eyes and spoke sarcastically. “I don’t know. Maybe because you lot are incapable of doing anything the easy way. I’ve never been involved in one of your plots before. For all I know, they always involve elaborate deceptions and complex planning.” Returning to his normal tone he added, “It’s not like I’m in a position to complain. You have put a tremendous amount of time and energy into giving me exactly what I most want and you have a perfect record of success in your projects. I’d be a fool to question your methods.”

Hermione looked at him open-mouthed. She blinked a couple of times. “You know, there are not very many things in this world that can shock me, but that did. You are not the type to blindly put your fate into another person’s hands without having worked out all the angles ahead of time, much less mine, Harry’s and Ron’s. I am really touched that you put so much faith in us.”

“You gave me my daughter. And now you’ve given me all this.” He gestured at the room they were sitting in. “I think you’ve earned at least a modicum of trust.”

“You gave me my life.”

Akio bit down hard on his tongue and silently made his way out of the room. He didn’t pretend to understand whatever it was between them, but he did not want to be any part of messing it up. They didn’t need him hovering while they worked out their issues.

Draco shifted in his chair. Good as it felt to have her gratitude, she deserved the truth. “It wasn’t really like that.”

“No? I distinctly remember someone trying to hit me with a Killing Curse when I didn’t have a wand. If you hadn’t stopped him, I would be dead.”

“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “But I didn’t do it to save you. At least, not you in particular.”

Hermione waited.

Draco leaned further back in his armchair and raised his gaze to focus somewhere near the top of the opposite wall. It would be easier to explain if he didn’t have to watch her reactions. “Crabbe had lost it. He wasn’t the kid who used to tag around after me any more, and he certainly wasn’t a man. All he lived for anymore was the killing, and he was bloody good at it, he was one of our best fighters.

“But when we left the battlefield he couldn’t leave it behind. He’d replay his kills over and over in his head and then he’d talk about them. Only they weren’t people or names, that was the strange part. He counted them by House. The Hogwarts Houses. As if we were still in school. I remember him sitting in a chair, rocking back and forth and counting off, ‘one Gryffindor, I got one Gryffindor today, and two Ravenclaws. Yesterday I got a Hufflepuff.’ On the battlefield he targeted our old schoolmates.”

Draco stopped talking. He had never discussed this with anyone before. Hell, he’d never discussed anything about the war before. Who would he have talked to? In prison he was surrounded by Muggles; he couldn’t very well talk to them. Since then he had been in America where the war was a foreign conflict fought by other people. Even if he had wanted to talk, no one would have been interested.

“A few days before that battle, the one where we met up, he’d killed someone he didn’t know. He was really upset about it -- not the killing, but the not knowing. ‘I don’t know where to sort that one, I can’t put her in a House.’ He kept saying that and getting more and more upset until I finally told him she was a Gryffindor.”

“Was she?”

“I have no idea. But it quieted him down. Then I saw him about to kill you and somehow I’d just had enough. I couldn’t watch him take down another familiar face and I couldn’t listen to him counting up his kills again. He wasn’t human anymore. He was just this mad killer.” He looked over at Hermione. “I’m no hero. I didn’t ride to your rescue. All I did was to put a crazed monster out of his misery. You just happened to be there.”

She thought for a moment before replying. “I’m sorry about Crabbe; I know you two were friends for a long time. But, Draco, you didn’t just kill him. You grabbed me and you took me to safety. You could have moved on and left me there, unarmed in the middle of enemy forces. It would have been a lot safer for you. But you didn’t. That was heroic.”

“It didn’t feel heroic. It felt like panic.” Was it heroic? And if it was, could it be enough to balance out the horror of what he had done to her afterwards?

“It was. Trust me, I know all about heroes.”

Potter. He’d almost forgotten. Of course she knew all about heroes, she was an expert on the subject. He took a deep breath and changed the subject. “So what exactly is the plan from here on out?”

“Oh, right. Where did Key get to?” She looked around, suddenly noticing that the two of them were alone together. “Never mind, I’ll explain it. We need to do everything we can to rehabilitate you as quickly as possible. You can’t just hide out here like you did on Long Island. You need to be out in public, showing everyone that you are proud of what you did. Luna Lovegood is assistant editor of the Quibbler, so we’ll get her to run a story on your role in ending the war and you will be seen as often as possible with either me or Harry. Before anyone thinks to connect you and Nicky, the public has to see you as Draco Malfoy the war hero, not Draco Malfoy the ex-Death Eater.”

“A pardon would help.”

“We thought of that. Harry and I looked into the legal issues, but unless Fudge suddenly discovers that you are his long-lost brother, we don’t have a chance. It’s entirely at his discretion and I don’t expect that he is very happy with you at the moment.”

“He doesn’t have to be happy. He just has to be motivated,” Draco replied thoughtfully.

“Draco? You do remember why we chose not to take him down, don’t you? That was your decision.”

“Don’t worry, I remember. I have no intentions of imposing the Umbridge creature on you.”

That evening Draco sent a note requesting a private meeting with the Minister of Magic.

…

The meeting went according to plan.

Since he was in the Ministry building anyway, he decided to drop by Hermione’s office to finalize the arrangements for their first official ‘date’ in Britain. He watched her from the doorway for a few minutes as she worked. She was wearing one of Akio’s pantsuits that day, this one in a deep plum shade that made her cheeks look rosier. Her hair was in its usual messy knot, but it seemed to have a few new accessories. He counted one wand and at least two quills sticking out of her head. He watched in amusement as she reached for something, patting the desk next to her without ever lifting her eyes from the parchment she was reading. Whatever she was looking for didn’t seem to be there, so she finally looked up, noticing Draco watching her.

“Lose something?” Draco asked amusedly.

“I was just looking for a quill. I’m sure I had some here,” she replied absently, lifting parchments and books as she searched her desk.

“You might want to try the top of your head,” he suggested, his smile deepening.

“Oh.” She pulled the quills and her wand out of her hair and grinned sheepishly. “I do that a lot. I always forget they are there.” She silently berated herself for acting like such a fool in front of him. Somehow, blithering idiot was not the image she wanted to project. “Did you need something? I’m really quite busy.” She started shuffling her papers to emphasize her point, desperately hoping he would go away before she managed to make an even bigger fool of herself.

“I just stopped by to ask what time you wanted to meet for dinner. I would have Owled, but I was in the building anyway.”

“Let’s say six-thirty,” she replied, pulling a file out of a drawer. “Should I change?”

“The attitude, please.” He was not used to being dismissed and decided that he did not approve.

She looked up, startled, and caught him frowning at her. She batted her eyelashes. “Ooh, Drakie. I’m so excited about our date tonight,” she said, in her best approximation of a squealing bimbo.

He smirked. “Much better.”

She gave him a half-smile. “Sorry. I just need to finish these up before I leave tonight. Seriously, do I need to dress up?”

He cocked his head and looked her over carefully. “No. You are perfect as you are. Don’t change a thing.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were flirting with me,” she replied, confused.

“Good thing you know better, then, isn’t it?” he threw back, winking.

It was fond amusement, he thought as he walked away from her office. He’d never felt it before, but he recognized it. It was an odd feeling, fondness. There were a number of people he respected and even a few he liked. Akio was one, though he would never, ever tell him so. But he couldn’t remember ever being fond of anyone before. It suddenly occurred to Draco that he and Hermione had somehow become friends. He was not a man who made friends easily, if at all. Finding one in the mother of his child was an unexpected bonus. For as long as he was part of Nicola’s life, and he intended that to be a very long time, he would, of necessity, have regular interactions with her mother. Being friends would make the entire arrangement much more pleasant for everyone involved.

….

It was an uncomfortable evening. The plan had been simple enough. He would pick her up after work, they would walk together, holding hands, down Diagon Alley to the restaurant. They had booked a table by the window where they could be observed by passersby as they held hands and gazed at each other between courses. Then he would see her home. Nicky was spending the night at her grandparents, so they could take their time and see how things went.

In practice, it had been sheer torture.

“Do you know, I’ve never actually been spat on before,” Hermione commented as she closed the door to her flat behind them. She remembered the summer after the Tri-Wizard Tournament, when Harry was insisting that Voldemort had returned: the dirty looks and averted glances they would get whenever they walked through wizarding neighborhoods. That had been nothing compared to walking down Diagon Alley holding hands with the only known, living Death Eater. Most of it was directed at Draco, but she received a few choice epithets of her own, most involving the word “whore” in some manner or other, and one memorable witch had simply spat in her face. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just have a shower and turn in.”

“That’s fine. Where am I sleeping?”

Hermione turned to look at him quizzically. “In your house, perhaps?”

“We’re supposed to be a couple. Don’t you think it’s going to raise suspicions if I’m seen leaving here after five minutes?”

“You don’t think anyone would be watching the door, do you?”

Draco took Hermione’s hand and pulled her over towards the window. As he pulled back the curtain, she saw a figure on the street pointing a camera at them. “Does that answer your question?” he asked, perching on the window sill and pulling her between his legs. She put her arms around his neck. “At least we’re giving them a good show.”

Draco ran his hands up her sides, tracing the curves of her hips and waist before reaching around her back to pull her into his chest. “Yes, but I’m still going to have to spend the night. Please tell me you have a guest room.”

“No. But I can transfigure the sofa into a bed,” she replied, twining her arms around his neck. “That will have to do, unless you want to sleep in Nicky’s room.”

“That depends,” he said, as he kissed her neck. “Is it pink?” For her room in the house in Long Island, Nicola had pleaded for pink walls, pink bedcovers, pink carpet, in fact pink everything. He had, of course, conceded to her wishes. And never set foot in the room again except to tuck her in at night with the lights off.

“Very.”

“Show me to the sofa,” he decided, rising to his feet and leading her away from the window. A glance out of the corner of his eye assured him that the photographer was still there and had not missed a moment of the action. He hoped the editor would prefer the shots of the two of them embracing to the ones in Diagon Alley where they were accosted by taunts and jeers.

“You can have the shower first,” Hermione offered. “I’ll find you something of Harry’s to wear.”

…

Hermione tiptoed into the living room. After the ordeal of the evening, she really wanted a nice, relaxing cup of herbal tea before bed, but she didn’t want to disturb Draco if he were sleeping. She needn’t have worried. He was sitting in an armchair staring off into space.

“Are you all right?” she asked, relieved that she had thought to put her thick fleece robe on over her pyjamas. She was a bit overdressed for the temperature in the flat, but better overdressed than overexposed.

“I’ve been better.” His voice was low and flat.

“Have a cuppa? It’s herbal, it might help you relax.”

“That sounds nice.”

She brought the tray of tea things into the lounge room and set it on the coffee table, taking the chair opposite Draco’s. “It needs a couple of minutes to brew. Do you want to talk about what happened?”

Draco grimaced. “Every person on that street stared at me. I counted eight who cursed me for being a Death Eater. Then there was that charming lady who spat on you for being with me. I’ve never felt that kind of hatred before. I can’t even describe what that felt like.”

“I think I know,” she offered, gently.

“Look, I’m sure it was awful for you, but tomorrow when you walk down that street by yourself no one will say a thing. You are not despised for yourself. For something you can’t change.”

“No, but I remember how it felt being called Mudblood for six years.” Hermione was careful to keep her voice even and reassuring. She did not want this to sound like an accusation. “Did you ever notice that I sat facing away from the Slytherin table whenever I could? I couldn’t stand the ugly looks, the sneers, and that word, day after day. I **know** how you feel, Draco.”

Draco closed his eyes and turned his face away from her. “I did that to you. How could I have forgotten? I made you feel that way. Why do you even speak to me? How can you possibly have gotten over that?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Still.” He forced himself to look at her. Her face bore none of the anger or resentment he expected. “I know it’s too late for an apology to mean anything, but for what it’s worth, I regret it more than I can possibly say.”

“That’s not the point. I didn’t bring it up to make you feel bad and I don’t need you to apologize. You are not that person anymore.”

“So what is the point?”

“That it goes away eventually. Be the man you want to be and, eventually, people will forget what you were and see you for what you are.”

Draco thought about what she had said and whether he could believe that it could be that easy. The knowledge that he had genuinely hurt her – that was more difficult to process. Or maybe there was no point in processing it. Really, it was just one more in a series of insurmountable barriers between them. She had let him into his daughter’s life and given him her own friendship, a gift that he was learning to appreciate more each time he saw her. It was so much more than he deserved; he should learn to count his blessings instead of dwelling on the things he could never have.

He managed to hold that thought until she started to pour the tea.

“What is that?”

“What? This? It’s a honeybear.” She smiled. “I thought you knew everything we had in this place.”

That made sense. It contained honey and it looked like a bear, except for the pointy head. The pointy head through which she was squeezing honey into her tea. “The shopping lists just said honey. They didn’t mention anything about bears.”

“My parents always had one for me when I was little. I love the honeybears. The best thing about them is that after you add the honey to your tea, you get this one little drop at the tip of his head.”

And then it happened.

He watched as she reached out a slender finger to capture the little globule and then lifted the finger to her mouth and, sweet Nimue’s knickers, flicked out her tongue to lick her finger! In that moment, all the warm affection he had been building for Hermione was transformed into hot, piercing desire. All he could see was her tongue licking at her finger while his mind pictured all of the other things that sweet, pink tongue could lick.

“Draco? Are you all right?”

“Yes. Fine. Just…a bit tired.”

“Then you should get to sleep. I can have my tea in bed,” she said, gathering up the tea things and taking them back to the kitchen. “Sweet dreams, Draco,” she added on her way back through the living room to her bedroom.

Her bedroom. Where she would be in her bed. Right down that hallway. Possibly even right through that wall, though he wasn’t sure what the layout of the flat was.

He did try to sleep, but it was a losing battle. Rolling over onto his back he glared down at his rampant erection. There was no way he was going to sleep unless he dealt with it, but he vowed that this time he would not allow any thought of pain or hurt, especially Hermione’s pain and hurt, enter his mind. He focused instead on the moment with the honeybear. He replayed the scene in his mind, first the way it happened, watching again as her tongue delicately licked at her finger. Then he let his hand drift across his chest as he pictured that tongue stretching out to caress him there. That brought a fresh rush of blood to his already turgid cock.

He wet his finger and rubbed the moisture over his nipple as he pictured her tongue working the same spot. Then again on the other side. He kept that up, switching back and forth, while in his mind Hermione was leaning over him and caressing the tightly furled buds with her pretty little tongue. He had thought to picture her tongue on his cock next, but instead found himself thinking of how she would taste. Sweet. Like honey. No, covered in honey. He groaned at the thought, picturing taking that silly bear and squeezing thick lines of golden syrup onto her neck, her nipples, down the center of her torso to fill her belly button, and then following that sweet trail with his mouth, slowly moving over her body and sucking every last sticky particle off her smooth flesh.

His hand was on his cock now, pumping steadily as he imagined parting her legs and sliding the point of the honeybear deep inside her, squeezing until her juices mixes with the sweet, thick nectar and then lapping it up, tasting her and the honey while she writhed and moaned and HOLY MERLIN THAT FELT INCREDIBLE!!!

He came hard, semen arching high into the air only to fall back on his chest. A smile crept over his features. He had done it. He had managed to bring himself off without a hint of malice. Now, if he could just figure out how to get through the next few months without jumping his girlfriend or killing the man she loved in a jealous fit, he would be fine.

…

She was an early riser. By the time he woke up she was already dressed and fixing breakfast.

“Nothing for me. I’ll have something when I get home,” he called out, throwing on his clothes and heading into the kitchen where she was reading the Daily Prophet as she ate.

“You should see me off.”

“Of course. I’ll walk you as far as the front door in case anyone is watching.”

“And we’ll kiss goodbye. It should be a proper kiss, not just a peck. We’re supposed to have spent the night making love. A little passion is called for.” He wondered whether he was actually suicidal. This was, in all likelihood, the single worst idea he had had since agreeing to take the Dark Mark. Not only was he going to have to kiss the woman he had just started lusting after and couldn’t have, but he was going to do it badly. Draco Malfoy didn’t kiss. He did other things with his mouth, lots of other things, but there was something about touching tongues that had always seemed vaguely disgusting to him.

Hermione looked up startled. “We haven’t practiced that.”

“Then we’ll have to do it before I go.” Why hadn’t he backed down? He could have done. But he didn’t want to. The soft kisses he and Hermione had been sharing for the paparazzi were the furthest he had ever gone in that area and they had left him wanting more. He had to know what those warm, inviting lips would feel like if he pressed harder against them and then took them between his own and ran his tongue over them, but mostly he wanted to see what would happen if he pushed past them into the moistness that lay within. For the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy wanted to find out what real, deep kisses were like.

She walked past Draco into the living room and then turned to face him. “Where do you think the arms should go?” This had disaster written all over it, she thought. In moments he was going to realize that she had never actually had a proper kiss. There had been some awkward fumbling with Viktor and a disastrous moment with a very drunk Ron, but both of those were years in the past. She and Harry did not kiss, except as friends.

“Yours around my neck, mine at your waist,” he replied without thinking, as if there were no other possibilities. He knew exactly what he wanted.

She got into position and paused, grasping for some way out of the impending humiliation. “I don’t think we need to go as far as using tongues, do you? Just a bit more lip work should do.”

Relief and frustration battled for supremacy in Draco’s mind. Neither was willing to give ground so he ignored them. “That’s a good idea. We don’t want to look like a pair of rutting teenagers in heat. Just a loving couple.”

He leant his head down, she tilted hers up, and their noses collided. They tried again. This time he went for a bit of an angle. Unfortunately, she chose the same angle. Another collision.

“Try the move where you gaze adoringly at me and hold it,” he directed.

She couldn’t help smiling. “You do like that one, don’t you.”

“Of course,” he smirked, just a bit. “Now hold still.”

She did and this time there was no awkwardness, only lips touching lips, just pressing together at first but then beginning to move against each other, kneading and teasing. Draco’s hands moved of their own accord, sliding around her back to pull her closer to him, one resting at the small of her back while the other made its way up her spine. Hermione’s hands were buried in the hair at the nape of his neck, her fingers weaving themselves between the silken strands. He felt her breasts against his chest and his cock growing, reaching up to press into her…

“That’s enough,” he declared, pulling away from her even as his body screamed for more. He couldn’t afford to get carried away.

They went outside and kissed goodbye the way they had rehearsed it, though Draco couldn’t help taking just that little bit more, letting his hand drift downwards to rest on the upper curve of her remarkably firm arse. Definitely suicidal, he decided. He wondered just how badly she would hurt him if she ever felt him getting hard for her.

She went back into her flat, mentally cursing. She had a busy day ahead of her but she was going to be late getting into the office. Even without tongues, his lips alone could have driven her into a frenzy of need. Once his hands started roaming she was lost. Hermione was going to need some quality private time to scratch that itch if she was to have any hope of being able to concentrate for the rest of the day. Her physical responses to Draco were starting to become a real problem and it didn’t help that he was intelligent and interesting. Why couldn’t he be a boring, self-important snob? She wondered how the hell she was going to get through months of this without losing her mind.

Draco made it around the corner and into an alley before leaning against a wall to rest while he regained his composure. He knew he was in trouble. Ever since they had started their little charade he had been aware that he was developing feelings for Hermione, but in an amorphous, warm and tender sort of way. Cuddling and kissing for the cameras had been surprisingly enjoyable. He had never had a relationship that involved that amount of non-sexual touching and he found that he quite liked it. Of course there had been moments when he’d felt sexual urges, but they had been general rather than being focused on this particular woman. Finding himself actively lusting after Hermione was disturbing.

Not that he had a problem with lust. Draco had experienced lust many times. In most cases, it had worn off after he indulged with the lady in question for a few months. There had been some he couldn’t have, like the Beauxbaton bitch back in fourth year, but he had never had much trouble getting over them.

But friendship and lust together, that was new territory. Frightening territory.

He could handle it, he decided. After all, there was no possibility of an actual relationship with Hermione. He counted off the reasons. First was the way he had treated her at school. She might say it was in the past, but she certainly had not forgotten it; the previous night’s conversation proved that.

Second was his shameful behaviour when he had taken her virginity. No wonder she was so awkward about touching him. In her mind, he was certain, the thought of Draco Malfoy as a sexual being could only evoke memories of pain and brutality. It was a testament to her strength of character that she could stand to let him near her at all. Or maybe she really was that forgiving. Was it possible that she had really put all those things behind her?

It didn’t matter. There was still the third reason. Potter. She and Potter had been lovers for years and friends since they were children. They had fought side by side during the war and worked together now, still pursuing the same, lofty goals. He had helped her to raise her daughter, giving his love and affection to another man’s child for her sake. He even loved her enough to step back and put their relationship on hold when she asked him to without attempting to interfere. Potter was her equal in nobility of character and purpose. He was her soul mate. Draco could never compete with that.

Draco straightened up and congratulated himself. He had successfully averted the crisis. All he had to do was to keep reminding himself of those three arguments and he could keep his feelings in check. It would only be a few more months and he was strong enough to maintain his self-control for that long.

Then he made a fatal mistake. He licked his lips. The groan started somewhere deep inside him. How could he have failed to note what she had been eating when he started the whole kissing fiasco? Toast with _honey_. Just the hint of that sweetness, taken from her lips, and his resolve evaporated. A surge of heat washed over him before settling in his groin, where his flagging erection came roaring back. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything before.

“I’m fucked,” he told himself as he Apparated home. “Totally fucked.”

…

Four men sat around a table discussing how to get rid of a woman. One particular woman. The one whose removal would save all their sorry arses.

“Dammit, Fudge. This whole thing was your idea. I’m not sure I want to get any further involved,” said the judge who had signed the papers.

“It’s a bit late to pull out now,” said the ex-Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement who had authorized the signatures.

“We’ll find a way. We always do,” said the file clerk who had forged the orders for Draco’s deportation and Obliviated the Aurors who carried out his bidding.

…

Nicky’s first public appearance was at the celebration for Draco’s pardon. It had come as a complete surprise to everyone, though Hermione suspected that Draco’s surprise was faked. She had seen him performing for an audience enough times over the previous months to recognize the signs. She wasn’t about to ask questions. However he had managed it, her job would be considerably easier. Luna joined them, along with Harry and Ron and Ron’s family. Harry credited Luna’s article for the Minister’s sudden change of heart.

She had been quite clever with it, running a series of a dozen profiles titled “War Heroes, Where Are They Now,” highlighting the personal and professional events in all of their lives, along with those of a number of their friends. Draco’s article was stuck in the middle of the series. The previous ones had all touched on the hopelessness of the situation towards the end, when neither side could gain an advantage. Several, including Harry’s and Ron’s, had described Draco’s conversion as the critical turning point that ensured victory.

The interview with Draco was carefully staged for maximum effect. Hermione went with him. The article had a picture of him sitting in a chair and talking, just like all the other ones, but there was also an extra shot on the back cover of the two of them holding hands outside the Quibbler offices. In the interview itself, Draco humbly waved aside his contributions as “too little, too late for so many of our brave fighters.” He spoke of the isolation of living in a Muggle prison and his disappointment at having been banished from home and country for so long.

Then he credited Hermione for his conversion, both during the war and again over the past few months. “She really is an extraordinary woman. It was a twist of fate that threw us together during the war. I was disillusioned with the Dark Lord’s cause, but without her strength, her wisdom and her courage I would never have taken that step and changed sides. Then she came into my life again when I was nothing but a bitter, lonely exile and helped me find my way home. Whatever small contribution I may have made is all to her credit.” The public response was overwhelming. The very witches and wizards who had spat on him a few weeks earlier were coming up to him on the street and thanking him. Not a week later, Cornelius Fudge announced that Draco had been pardoned for all acts committed during his time as a Death Eater and would henceforth be included in the list of heroes of the Second Voldemort War.

To celebrate, they had a picnic lunch in the Hogsmeade town square, a short walk from Ron’s and Lavender’s house. Hermione had been slowly introducing Nicky to magic over the previous few weeks. Nicky had taken to magic like, well, like a child to magic. She was enraptured from the first time she met Mipsy and it was only Hermione’s firm insistence that Nicky was much too young that kept the boys from taking her up for her first broom ride.

It was a glorious day for Draco, and he reveled in playing the respectable family man. Sitting with his arm around Hermione and watching his daughter playing with other little witches and wizards gave him an entirely unfamiliar feeling of completion. He noticed Potter watching him, but looked away quickly. It might not be real and it couldn’t last, but he was going to take every precious minute of it that he could.

He wondered who had it worse: himself, for knowing the woman in his arms was just playing a game and would never really be his, or Potter, forced to watch while another man publicly claimed the woman he loved. It was a stupid question. At the end of the day, Potter was going to get the girl. All Draco had were a few moments of make-believe.


	8. Chapter 8

They fell into a routine.

They met for lunch a couple of times a week in Diagon Alley. They would walk there and back holding hands and usually stopped into one shop or another.

Saturdays they took Nicky out in public. They went to every place in wizarding London that could possibly interest a five-year-old child. At first it was always the three of them. Then they started having the occasional group outing, where Ron brought his family and Harry came along.

Sundays were Draco’s private time with Nicky. Every Sunday he asked her what she wanted to do and every Sunday she answered, “Go swimming, of course.” They spent long, lazy afternoons in the swimming pool tucked away on the grounds of his estate. Despite Draco’s best efforts, though, Hermione always refused to join them.

Saturdays were date nights. Nicky would stay with her grandparents so Hermione and Draco could go somewhere where they would be seen. After much argument, a compromise had been reached on Hermione’s date clothes. She now owned a selection of very elegant jackets in silks and velvets, with beadwork and embroidery and appliqués, which she wore over loose, silk blouses and flowing slacks in matching colours. Hermione’s only real concession was that the blouses were cut lower than she was used to, though not far enough to show actual cleavage.

It was enough, however, to have Draco hungering to taste her shoulders and dip his tongue into the intriguing little hollow at the base of her throat, then suckle on her skin, working his way downwards … He hungered.

Akio worked them through a few more poses, though Draco reused the kiss he and Hermione had developed for themselves as often as possible. He knew it was self-destructive, but he couldn’t help himself; it just felt too damned good. Not taking it any further was just about killing him, and he’d had to start taking a potion to control his erections. It didn’t dampen his desire in the least, but it allowed him to hold her without making it obvious. This was critically important in the evenings when they returned to Hermione’s flat. Every time she got out that bloody honeybear he felt a familiar ache in his balls. It got worse if she was facing him when she put the tray down; those blouses were open just enough to gap when she bent over, giving him glimpses of the soft swells of her breasts and the fine lace of her lingerie. By the time he bedded down on her sofa, the potion would be wearing off and he would find himself once again grateful for cleaning spells.

Hermione was grateful for silencing charms. She had learned long ago to control her moans when she touched herself, but the bedsprings were a bit creaky and the fantasies she had of herself with Draco were energetic to say the least. Her favourite took them back to the forest where they had conceived Nicola, but this time she was neither virgin nor uninterested. It started with her slamming him up against a tree and forcing her tongue into his mouth. She wondered sometimes what he would do if she ever gave in to that desire. It had become a key feature of all her fantasies these days, finally getting to plunge her tongue between those warm, pliant lips that wreaked such havoc with her senses every time they kissed. His kisses were driving her mad.

In her fantasy, he kissed her back, their tongues swirling and stroking while they tore the clothes off of each other’s bodies. She knew the feel of his lean muscular body through his clothing, but she had to imagine the feel of his skin. His hands, though. She knew them. On their dates his hands were gentle on her body, always sticking to socially acceptable touches. In her imagination, they were rough, grabbing, pinching, kneading her flesh, pulling hard at her breasts as the two of them fell to the ground, rolling over each other in a frenzy. Then those hands were lifting one of her legs up to her shoulder, forcing it back until she felt as if she would tear in two before his cock thrust hard into her, his pelvis driving her into the ground until she could take no more. She turned over on her bed, bringing her knees under her as her fantasy had her taking charge, flipping them over and riding him, arms braced on the ground as he arched forwards so his teeth could reach her, biting hard into her breasts. She came, bucking madly into the fingers of one hand, viciously twisting her own nipple with the other and biting her pillow with her arse in the air.

…

Hermione had known she was in trouble the first time Draco asked her to go swimming. The sexual fantasies were to be expected. No one could spend that much time kissing and touching without feeling a sexual connection. She assumed that they would fade once she and Draco dropped the dating charade. But the first time she thought of getting into the pool with Draco and Nicky, she was struck with a powerful mental image. She was standing, wearing her plain, black, ill-fitting swimming costume, on the pool deck next to Ailish. Draco was looking her up and down with a sneer on his face. Then he turned away and wrapped an arm around the smiling, bikini-clad beauty beside her and pulled her into a passionate embrace. Hermione decided, then and there, that it would take a horde of angry hippogriffs to get her into her cozzie anywhere near the patrician blond who haunted her dreams.

As she walked away, having politely rejecting his suggestion, she wondered when she had become so self-conscious about her looks. She had never thought she was beautiful, but neither had she ever particularly cared. On special occasions, like the Yule Ball during fourth year, she always managed to achieve a reasonably attractive level of cuteness, but never real beauty. But Hermione Granger was no Lavender Brown. She was comfortable with her average looks. At least she always had been.

Hermione was dismayed to realize that she wanted to be beautiful **for Draco**. There was a look he gave her sometimes when they were out together. Akio had worked with him on it, telling him to imagine that she was the loveliest creature on earth, that the moon shone from her hair and the stars lived in her eyes. He’d become so good at it that sometimes she almost thought it was real. She wanted it to be real. She wanted all the ways that he touched her and held her to be true expressions of his feelings. Fuck. She was in a world of trouble.

Draco was in a world of trouble of his own. He knew he could never have Hermione for his own, but he was becoming obsessed by the need to see her without the loose, concealing clothes she always wore. Akio’s best efforts had got her into the occasional open-necked blouse, but never anything that clung to her body and let him get a proper look at her figure. He knew her shape by touch. He took every opportunity he could to get his hands on her waist, her back, her hips, her stomach. He pressed her against him in every position and angle he could reasonably get away with. But he never got to look at her, not really.

She wouldn’t get into the pool when he was around, but he knew from Nicky that her mother loved to swim. What if she thought he wasn’t there?

They were at a popular restaurant off Diagon Alley one Saturday evening when he told her that he was going to have to meet with a business associate the next afternoon. “I hate to disappoint Nicky. I know how much she loves her Sunday swims, but my associate is only in London for a few days and it’s the only time she can meet me.” He had gone back and forth about whether to make the imaginary colleague male or female. In the end, he’d flipped a Galleon.

‘She,’ Hermione thought. No doubt she would be tall and leggy. She might even have perfect cheekbones and perky breasts. Was he meeting Ailish? She knew he was keeping to their pact not to take any chances by seeing other people, but it had been months. She knew how physically frustrated she was; no doubt it was worse for him. If he had found a way to have a discreet tryst with his old girlfriend, it was none of her business. “Nicky will get over it. It’s only one Sunday.”

“Unless you want to take her? There is no reason the two of you can’t have a swim while I’m out.”

“Maybe,” Hermione replied noncommittally.

…

Draco knew his daughter’s powers of persuasion. It only took half an hour of whining to wear Hermione down. She Apparated with Nicky to Draco’s house and took her out to the pool house. Nicky’s swimming costume was hanging neatly in one of the changing rooms, as were several in Hermione’s size, ranging from a string bikini to a modest one-piece. Hermione had brought her own, of course, but the straps always dug into her shoulders. Besides, she was curious to see what Akio would pick for her in swimwear. The one-piece was cut a little higher on the leg than she would have liked, and dipped a little lower in the back than seemed strictly necessary, but the cups were cut perfectly to hold her breasts and it was more comfortable than her own.

Draco was watching from his bedroom window when Hermione and Nicky emerged from the pool house. He had already charmed the window to magnify their images and his breath caught as he watched Hermione walk towards the pool and crouch down by the waters edge to test the temperature. She was all lean, toned muscle and firm, shapely curves. He had to get closer.

Draco waited nearly three quarters of an hour. Nicky never spent less than an hour in the pool and usually two, so he was certain they wouldn’t leave in that time. While he waited, he watched Hermione. He was painfully aware of exactly how pathetic he was, a grown man reduced to playing peeping tom, but he couldn’t make himself stop, not when every time she dived beneath the water’s surface he got a flash of her pert little bottom and he could watch the way her breasts bounced when she emerged. He took a dose of his potion before going out to the pool to join them.

Hermione was in a splashing war with Nicky and missed his approach until their daughter squealed “Uncle Draco” and started swimming towards the side of the pool.

“I thought you had a meeting,” she said accusingly.

“I did. It ended early.” He turned to Nicky and added, “Should I get changed and join you two?” He was trying to reassure Hermione that this was all about Nicky. He wasn’t there to ogle her. Not entirely, anyway.

“Yay! Hurry up!” Nicky launched herself at her mother. “Won’t this be fun, Mummy!” she crowed as she landed in her mother’s arms in a spray of water.

Draco missed Hermione’s reply as he headed into the pool house. He paused a moment before going all the way in. If she wanted to avoid him, she would be getting out of the pool and heading for her changing room while she thought that he was in the other one. He counted to three and stepped back out. Sure enough, she was out of the pool and headed towards him. All of his careful planning and preparation flew out the window in that one moment. She was no more than six feet in front of him, wearing nothing more than a scrap of lycra and shimmering droplets of water. He couldn’t help himself. He ogled. Blatantly.

Hermione stopped in horror, crossing her arms across her chest. “Yes, Malfoy, they droop. That’s what happens when you breastfeed a child. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you with my imperfect boobs.”

The eyes that met hers were dark and hooded. “I am not certain which is more embarrassing. The fact that you caught me ogling you like some silly, virginal schoolboy or the fact that you could not conceive of the possibility that I might be enjoying the view.”

He strode back to the house and headed directly for his bedroom, where he threw himself face down onto his bed. He felt as if the bottom had dropped out of his world. He had lost control, first in letting her see his lust and then in correcting her when she misinterpreted it. Why didn’t he just let her believe that he found her unattractive? Surely such a lack of gallantry could be excused by the dire necessity of preventing her from discovering his true feelings. The day she found out, she would flee in horror and he would lose both the woman he desired and the daughter he doted on. But when the opportunity had arisen, he had been incapable of taking it; he would have had to go along with the patent falsehood that Hermione Granger was flawed, that motherhood had left her damaged, that she was somehow less than other women because of the child that he himself had planted in her womb. He could not compound the many harms he had done her by fostering that pernicious lie.

He rose and went over to the window just in time to see Hermione and Nicky emerge from the pool house, having changed out of their swimming costumes. His mind spun. What had she been thinking? Was this the last time he would see them? With his heart in his throat, he went back downstairs to meet his fate.

“Nicky, why don’t you go read a book in the front room.”

“But Mummmmy. I want to play dolls with Uncle Draco.”

“Not now, Nicky. Mummy and Uncle Draco need to talk.”

Talk. It had never occurred to him before just how much horror could be contained in that seemingly innocuous word. “Give me a hug first,” he said. ‘Then you can go pick your favourite book.” He held her close, breathing in the scent of chlorine and sunshine and little girl, and then gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“What was that for?” Nicky asked. Uncle Draco wasn’t usually a kissing man like Key and Uncle Ron.

“Because I love you, of course.” There. He had kissed his daughter goodbye without breaking down in front of her. There was no more that he could do.

Hermione waited until Nicky had left the room. “Merlin knows this isn’t easy for me and I know it’s more difficult for men, so it must be killing you. Maybe you should see a professional. Not a magical one, of course, she would have to be a Muggle. Just until … well. I understand the better ones are very discreet.”

A professional? “You mean a psychiatrist?” She wanted him to do some kind of aversion therapy to quell his inappropriate thoughts. If that was what it took to keep his family together, or as together as they were, he would try it. Though why Hermione assumed the psychiatrist would be female was beyond him.

“No. How would that help? I meant a professional… woman. Someone who could take care of your needs.”

“A prostitute?!?” Fucking hounds of hell, she wanted him to start going to brothels?

“I’m just trying to be helpful,” Hermione sniffed. “That was not normal behaviour for you. Obviously this enforced celibacy is becoming a problem. So just… take care of it. I don’t want this becoming a problem.”

Draco realized his mouth was hanging open and snapped it closed. “It won’t be. And I will not be … Look. I don’t know what Potter is doing to get through this little dry spell we are all sharing, but I for one have standards. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to forget that this conversation ever happened.” He turned and fled, just slowly enough to make it look like he was stalking off in high dudgeon. At least he hoped it did.

He had no hope of forgetting that conversation had happened. She had not told him to go to hell and stormed out of his life, for which he would be eternally grateful. But she had said that the celibacy was difficult for her. She was pining for Potter. His Hermione, the mother of his child, had stood there in his own back parlor and told him how difficult it was to stay away from her lover. Worse, she had been incapable of recognizing his own desire for her. He was so far beneath her consideration that it could never occur to her to think of him simply as a man who wanted her. Instead, she saw a beast whose animal urges had to be slaked by whatever means available to keep him well-behaved. Draco grimaced at his own idiocy. Just minutes ago his greatest fear had been that she would realize how he felt and now he was crushed that she couldn’t.

Hermione was not faring any better. Of course she knew he had standards. As soon as she got back to her flat, she put Nicky in front of a video and went to her bedroom to look at those standards. She must have looked at those pictures a hundred times in the past few months. Covers of fashion magazines, shots from society pages. She had several dozen moving pictures depicting the physical perfection of every woman Draco had dated since leaving prison, culled from the report Harry had compiled on his activities for the investigation. Harry was nothing if not thorough.

She undressed and stood in front of the mirror. The years of training had left her physically fit, but distinctly unfeminine. She had a small waist, but the muscles in her neck and shoulders rippled when she turned her head, her hips were narrow rather than womanly, and her thighs were thick and muscular instead of long and smooth. She turned to look at her profile. Her stomach was only slightly rounded, but her bum stuck out like a ginormous carbuncle. The only touch of softness came from her smaller than average, sagging breasts. Then there were the scars. Definitely not up to Draco’s standards.

Which was unfortunate. If he didn’t have such infernally high standards she would have jumped him right there on the pool deck in front of their daughter. The fact that he had actually taken a momentary interest in her sagging assets just proved how deeply frustrated he was at his enforced celibacy. Hermione had come shockingly close to offering herself, begging him to make do with her, even knowing that he didn’t really want her. She’d spent too much time pressed up against him not to have noticed the distinct lack of interest on his part. With all the kissing and fondling, you would think that he would have some response, but she had never once felt even the slightest hint that their acting had any physical affect on him whatsoever.

Once his place in Nicky’s life was secure, he would go back to the renowned beauties he preferred and she would be glad she had not made a fool of herself. It would have been humiliating enough if he had turned her down, but even worse if he had accepted. In his eyes she would, forever after, be remembered as a necessary but distasteful episode. It was that thought that had stopped her. The idea of seeing a fleeting look of revulsion cross those perfect features every time they met was simply intolerable. She was embarrassed enough that she had revealed her insecurity to him; he had been right about that. It was one thing to know that one’s body did not meet up to the standards of the man of your dreams, but quite another to admit the fact in front of him. Letting him actually see her naked, become intimate with her body, experience for himself the differences between her form and those he was accustomed to… it didn’t bear thinking about.

…

For her birthday, Nicky wanted a pool party with all her friends. There were a handful of kids from her new school and their parents along with a fair number of Weasleys and assorted other friends. It was a crisp autumn day, but Draco had professionals install permanent warming charms over the whole pool area. “So you can come here and swim any time you want to, sweetheart. It’s my present to you.”

“But, Uncle Draco, I thought you were getting me…”

“Shhh!” He held a finger up to his lips and looked conspiratorial. “We don’t want to give the secret away.”

Nicola glanced over at her mother and giggled. “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell.”

“Good girl.”

After a couple of hours in the pool, the parents got their children dried off and changed back into their party clothes. Then it was time to open the presents. There was the usual collection of toys and trinkets. The children all crowded around Nicky, jumping up and down as they admired the gifts. The very last was a smallish, flat box wrapped in gold paper. “Is this it?” Nicky whispered loudly to Draco.

“Better look and see,” he whispered back, equally loudly. He tried to remember a moment that had given him more joy than watching his little girl open the present she had chosen herself. Only a child could be so enraptured by the very act of opening a gift. It didn’t matter a whit that she knew what lay inside.

She ripped the paper off and opened the velvet-covered box within. “It is it, it is, it is! Look Mummy, see? It’s for both of us! Just like in the picture! Isn’t it wonderful?” Nicola’s gleeful shrieks pulled Hermione to her side.

“What is it, darling?”

There, in the box, were two matching necklaces. A square-cut emerald was set with two smaller diamonds, one above and one below, hanging from a delicate chain. A thicker chain held a larger emerald in the same cut, surrounded by a full band of brilliant diamonds.

“See, Mummy! One for me and one for you! Aren’t they beautiful? It’s real silver and everything!”

Hermione’s nostrils flared. “You know, sweetheart, it’s probably white gold.”

Draco could hardly have missed the barely controlled edge to Hermione’s tone, but he chose to interpret it as suppressed excitement. “Actually, it’s platinum.”

“Of course it is.” Ron rolled his eyes in mock disgust.

“Only the best for my girls,” Draco replied cheerily.

Hermione put the smaller necklace onto Nicola, who patted it happily. “Aren’t they pretty, Mummy? I picked them out myself. I saw a picture of a girl with her mummy wearing matching necklaces and I told Uncle Draco that was what I wanted.”

“Did you, sweetheart? That was nice of you to want to share your birthday present. Where did you see that picture?”

“When I came here last time. Key brought me a whole pile of pictures to choose my birthday present from and I picked that one.”

Hermione turned to Draco. “A word? In private.” He followed her to a spot on the other side of the pool deck.

“You set that up. I told you I didn’t want you buying me jewelry and you deliberately used Nicola to subvert my wishes. I won’t have that kind of behaviour. You’ll have to take this back”

It had been a very long time since he had thought of Hermione as a bitch, but he was willing to try. “I gave her a range of options. This was what she chose. Do you really want to disappoint her?”

“I’m not the one disappointing her.” She kept her voice low enough that the guests would not hear her, but her rage was unmistakable. “You wanted to play games, you are going to have to be the one to tell her that you are taking it back.”

“Not without a good reason.”

“I don’t want it. That’s a good reason.”

“Why not?”

She folded her arms and glared at him. “You want to do this? Fine. Why do you want me to have it?”

“Because I like you and I want you to have nice things. It’s not like I can’t afford them.”

“No, but I can’t. In fact, this is probably worth more than my salary for a year. If I ever ran into financial trouble I could always sell it.”

What was she talking about? It occurred to Draco that Hermione might actually be losing her mind. “I suppose.”

“That’s why! This isn’t a gift, it’s an insurance policy. You don’t think I can support Nicky on my own so you’re trying to give me money, just like everyone else tries to. You just disguise it as jewelry. When I found out I was pregnant? Everyone told me to get rid of her. When I wouldn’t, they told me to put her up for adoption. And then, when I insisted I was keeping her, everyone I knew tried to give me money. My parents wanted to buy me a bigger flat. The Weasleys tried to get me a house elf. Me, with a house elf, can you imagine that? They don’t even have one for themselves, but of course a single mum can’t possibly manage on her own. Ron and Harry both offered to marry me. Well I don’t need it. I am a capable, grown woman and I can take care of myself. So you can take your little insurance policy and shove it up your lily-white, overpriced arse!”

He was right. She was losing her mind. “You are insane, did you know that?”

“Why? Because I refuse to be condescended to?”

“No. Because you refuse to let anyone be nice to you. You told me that there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do for Nicky. Don’t you think your parents feel the same way about you? They weren’t condescending to you, they were trying to show you how much they love you. I can’t speak for Potter or Weasley, but I can promise you, I didn’t buy you that bauble because I don’t think you can’t manage. No one who has spent ten minutes in your presence could ever imagine that you can’t manage. I bought it because I thought it might look good on you and I wanted to give you something nice. You do so bloody much for everyone else, me more than anyone. So just shut up and let someone do something for you for a change.”

While Hermione was scrambling for some sort of response, Draco suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. A large, calloused, freckled hand. “I never thought I would say this, but I think I love you.”

That threw a bucket of cold water on his anger. “Weasley? Nothing personal, but I’m not really into blokes.”

“Who cares? That was beautiful,” Harry said, giving him a solid whack on the back.

Hermione looked up at the three men. “So you all think I should take this?” She looked straight at Ron. “You really think I should accept expensive jewelry from Draco Malfoy?”

“I think you should accept a lot of things,” he replied.

She looked at Harry who just nodded. Then at Draco, who was looking a bit confused and embarrassed at the sudden outpouring of support from Weasley and Potter. “All right.” She handed the box to Draco and turned around, lifting her hair off of her neck. “You can put it on me.”

He stepped up behind her with the necklace in one hand. In an odd way this felt more intimate than any of the touches and kisses they had shared. He was marking her, putting a sign around her neck that screamed “I belong to Draco Malfoy” to all the world. He tried not to mind the fact that he had an audience that included her lover as he carefully looped the chain around her throat. His fingers rested on the nape of her neck, teased by a few loose strands of hair as he connected the clasp. It wasn’t enough, so he pushed his boundaries, just a smidge, taking her by the shoulders and turning her to face him. “It suits you,” he said, sliding the pendant across her chest to center it. “You look lovely.”

She blushed, knowing he was just being gallant but reveling in the compliment nonetheless. “I’ll go show Nicky,” she replied, not meeting his eyes.

“I wouldn’t have believed it,” Harry said as the three men watched her walk away.

“Yeah. Bloody amazing, that,” Ron added.

“What?”

Harry turned to Draco. “We’ve been trying to get her to unbend for years. She’s been absolutely adamant that she wouldn’t take anything more than token gifts. Wouldn’t even discuss it. We could never figure out why, but you got it out of her.”

“And got her to change her mind. She never does that,” Ron concluded.

Draco permitted himself a small smile. So he did have something Potter didn’t. Not her heart, but something. It helped.


	9. Chapter 9

As a Division Head, Hermione was required to attend all official Ministry functions. In the past, she had taken Harry with her, but he was more than happy to defer to Draco. Those nights, Harry would babysit Nicky at the flat until Hermione and Draco got back.

It had been nearly two months since Draco’s pardon and his appearance at her side no longer excited comment. It was yet another reception for some foreign dignitary, not that either of them could have said who. The talk was of the upcoming Christmas season. There were receptions and balls aplenty and Hermione was expected at most of them.

“At least this year I can duck the limelight.”

Draco’s brow furrowed. “How do you think you are going to manage that?”

She shrugged and threw him a smile that warmed his heart. “Because I’ll be with you. I’ve always gone with Harry before. Anyone within ten feet of Harry gets into the papers. It will be a relief to be able to stay in the background for a change.”

On the one hand, she was talking about Harry-Bloody-Always-Got-Everything-Draco-Ever-Wanted-Including-The-Only-Woman-Who-Had-Ever-Made-Him-Want-To-Share-Saliva Potter, who besides having an inconveniently long nickname was generally his least favourite topic of conversation. On the other, she was saying she would rather be with him, at least for the evening. It was pretty much a toss-up. “You don’t really believe that, do you? They’re as interested in you as they are in Potter.”

She laughed as she shook her head. “Oh, please. No one is interested in me as anything other than a cartoon character. Harry’s the big star, poor thing. They only include me as Harry’s date.”

Now that was an opening, and never let it be said that Draco Malfoy let an opening slip past him, especially when it came to Hermione. “You think so? Are you willing to place a bet on that?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of bet?”

“We all go to one of these balls. You and me and Harry and whoever. I bet that you and I will get the same page coverage as Harry and his partner. If he makes the front page, so do we. Maybe not the same size picture, but the same page.”

Hermione grinned. Draco had been in New York too long where the Heroine Hermione nonsense had caught on. Things were different in Britain. “What are the stakes?”

“Whatever you want. Name them.”

She thought for a moment. She had no doubt she would win, but she didn’t want to appear too cocky. “The loser has to take responsibility for our break-up.” That would work. It wouldn’t cost him anything; if anything it would redeem him in the eyes of his social circle, but neither was it a pittance. Their relationship, for what it was, had been manufactured in the press as a match made in heaven. She did not particularly want to be portrayed as the villain of the piece. Let him take that role – she would play the injured, abandoned innocent. At least it would give her an excuse for looking forlorn and heartbroken, as she knew she would. Draco would just chalk it up to a clever performance and she would never have to let him know how much she missed him.

Their break-up. Right. He tried to keep that thought pushed firmly to the back of his mind, but she never forgot it. Of course, she was looking forward to being with her true love again while he was trying to pretend that the game they were playing was real. They had not discussed how the break-up would happen, but what did it really matter how his death warrant was signed? He would go back to a series of meaningless fucks with women who bored him while she and Potter would… what? Get married, eventually, he supposed. Raise a family? He had a sudden vision of Harry rubbing his hand over Hermione’s taut, round belly, full with child – Draco firmly shut that thought down. Definitely time to move the conversation forward. “Deal. But you have to give it your best shot. No half-measures.”

“What does that mean,” she replied suspiciously.

“It means you let Akio dress you up. You frock up and look glamourous.” For once he would get to take her out and let her be the princess she was. Just once.

“That could be a problem. I can’t do that during the Christmas season.”

“Why not?”

He watched as her teeth worried at her lip. “I can’t give you the details, but…” She paused and took a deep breath before meeting his eyes. “There’s a work thing happening sometime around then. I’ll have to be ready to move if anything goes wrong. I’m sorry, Draco, but I won’t be able to play dress up.” She shouldn’t have told him that. Talking about an ongoing Auror operation was a firing offense, even if it was just the fact that there was an operation. Supposing he knew someone in the target organization and casually mentioned that his girlfriend might be busy at work. That could be all the warning they needed to ruin months of careful planning. Hermione was always lecturing the Aurors on not sharing any information, even with the people they loved and trusted the most, and here she was doing it herself with a man whose entire relationship with her was based on lies.

He smiled and cupped her face with his hand, his thumb gently caressing her cheek. He recognized both the trust she had just put in him and the opportunity it gave him. This was getting better by the second. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. It just means we’ll have to do it another time. There’s no hurry.”

“But the plan was to end the charade around the end of the year. We’ve really done everything we needed to.” Would she be able to handle any more? She had been counting down the days, psyching herself up to hold it together just a few more weeks. Before he had picked her up that evening she had recited to herself, “Just twenty three more days.” It was the mantra she used to strengthen her resolve whenever she felt the temptation to throw herself at him.

“Would it hurt to carry it on a little longer? When is the next big event?”

His hand was still on her face, his thumb still stroking across her cheek. That one little digit barely grazing her skin should not have been enough to send her senses whirling, but it did. “Not till Valentine’s Day. Can you make it that long?”

Draco kept his triumphant cackle to himself. Another six weeks of heaven. Another month and a half of precious memories to store away for the famine to come. Oh yes, he could make it that long. “Does that mean you agree to the terms? Akio dresses you and you spend the entire party with me, not Potter.”

“Agreed.” She was an idiot. How was she supposed to manage another six weeks of this blissful torture without cracking? She had almost made it through without losing her dignity. Why would she agree to extend the agony? And why had she agreed to let Akio loose on her wardrobe?

She knew the answer. Draco was a drug and she was an addict. She didn’t care that it wasn’t real, she craved his presence, his touch, his company, the way he made her feel. Even if it did mean making a public spectacle of herself. Dignity be damned, she would have crawled on her face through Abraxan droppings if it bought her just one more day. Six more weeks was manna from the gods.

He let his hand drop before the urge to cover her sweet, tempting lips with his own became too strong to resist. There were times and places to be seen kissing, but the middle of a formal reception was not one of them. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. I understand why you were upset about the necklace. I don’t agree with your reasoning, but I understand it. But if you are so reluctant to accept gifts, why don’t you get upset about the clothes?”

Hermione shrugged. “They are necessary for the charade. No one who saw us together when I was in my own clothes would have believed that I was a friend of yours. It would have raised questions.”

“Are you saying I chose my companions by their wardrobes?” That was rather insulting, really. He had never cared what she wore. Then again, Hermione and Akio seemed to be enjoying their little dress-up game and he was more than willing to fund just about anything that made her happy. If believing that the clothes were necessary to the role she was playing helped her to justify accepting them, then he would not be the one to disillusion her.

“Not as such. But you’ve always been very conscious of appearance. You always comment on how I look. I hadn’t thought of it beforehand, but when I saw the clothes I realized that I needed to project the image of someone you might choose to associate with. A good cover needs an appropriate wardrobe. I didn’t think it was presumptuous of you to provide it.”

Draco was considering her characterization of him when they were interrupted then by the Minister of Magic. “Hermione, have you heard? I daresay not, it’s terrible, really. You should know before anyone asks you. It wouldn’t do to be caught by surprise, you know.”

“Minister? I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“No, no. Of course you wouldn’t.” He glanced at Draco before pointedly returning his focus to Hermione. “I just want to let you know before it becomes public. There has been a terrible tragedy. Well, not a tragedy exactly. More of a misfortune.”

Hermione looked to Draco, but he just shrugged and quirked an eyebrow. “Perhaps if you had something to drink?” she suggested.

“What? No. No need. But you are sweet to offer.” He reached out and patted her on the arm, distractedly.

Hermione had never seen the Minister in such a state.

“It’s Dolores, you see. I’ve had to let her go. Well, technically she’s resigned.” He glanced furtively at Draco again, only to encounter a cold, glacial visage. “It seems, Hermione, that she’s…it cuts me to the quick to say it… one of my most trusted associates, you understand, so it’s quite the shock. It appears she has been…” he looked to Draco again, but receiving no support there cringed and carried on, “embezzling Ministry funds.”

“What? That seems so unlike her,” Hermione declared. She had not missed Fudge’s little glances and had no doubt that Draco was somehow involved. Time enough for that later, there was a role to play. “There will, of course, be formal charges. Let me assure you, my office will cooperate in the investigation in any way we can.”

“Oh, I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Fudge replied, recoiling. “Surely her resignation will close the matter.”

Hermione looked past the Minister to Draco, raising a querying eyebrow. Catching the barely perceptible shake of his head, she replied in a reassuring tone, “I’m sure it will. We’ll have to cover the formalities, of course, but if she has resigned, well, I’m sure there won’t be a problem.”

Fudge breathed in deeply, expanding his chest to the point where Hermione feared for the structural integrity of his robes, before letting out a deep sigh. “I was hoping that would be the case. It is such a disappointment to me, you know. I had put my trust in her. These sorts of things leave one disillusioned. I have even considered that it might be time for me to put my career as Minister behind me.” He looked at Draco and added, “Though perhaps it is too soon.”

“One should never leave such things too late,” Draco stated evenly. “A new year is a good time for a fresh start.”

Cornelius Fudge pulled himself up and squared his shoulders. “The new year. Yes. Of course.” Turning to Hermione he added, “I do hope you are enjoying yourself, my dear. You are looking well these days,” before he walked away.

Hermione pivoted slowly, stepping back to lean against the wall. “Interesting.”

Draco waved over one of the floating drinks trays and selected a flute of champagne, which he placed in Hermione’s waiting hand, and a snifter of brandy for himself before he copied her move, ending up shoulder to shoulder with Hermione, backs to the wall, facing the room. “Did you think so?”

“Indeed. It’s not every day you see the Minister of Magic begging for his job and being given his marching orders.”

She felt his shoulders move as he shrugged.

“He took what was mine.”

“He wasn’t the only one.”

There was a cold edge to her tone that caught his attention. “No. There were others involved.” He kept his voice carefully neutral. “Do you have an interest in these matters?”

“Two of my Aurors were interfered with. That is not behaviour that can be allowed to go unpunished.”

Despite his best efforts to appear calm and collected, Draco’s lips curled up in an appreciative smile. She was a girl after his own heart. He shifted the snifter to his other hand and put an arm around her shoulders. “It seems we have a common interest.”

She turned into him, resting her free hand on his chest, the perfect image of the devoted girlfriend. “Would you care to collaborate?” she murmured, smiling up at him adoringly.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked, returning her smile and playing with a loose curl of her hair.

“We’ll need to make plans. Sunday. I’ll tell Harry and Ron. Lav will keep the kids busy. Can you get Key to join us?” she asked, lowering her eyes demurely and fingering his tie.

“As long as we meet at my place. I will not be subjected to Lavender’s cooking again,” he replied, dropping a soft kiss on her forehead and running his hand slowly down her spine, past the dip that marked her waist to where he could feel the beginnings of those luscious curves he spent so much time thinking about. Damn, this was exhilarating. Holding the woman he loved in his arms, fondling her, and plotting the demise of his enemies all at the same time. The only way it could be any better would be if they were naked.

…

Harry was sprawled on the sofa, one leg hanging off the edge, an arm flung above his head and the other lying on his stomach. Draco tried not to dwell on how comfortable he looked, as if he belonged there. Harry stirred as they came in, but didn’t wake until Hermione perched on the armrest by his head and ruffled his already quite ruffled hair. It was a harmless, friendly gesture, but she was touching him. Draco tried not to look.

“How was she?”

Harry turned towards Hermione and then scooted up to sit in the corner of the sofa, his side pressed against her hip and his arm looped behind her. Draco wondered what Harry’s hand was doing back there and how long he would have to spend in prison if he removed Potter’s arm with a slicing curse. She would be back with the Scar-Faced Wonder soon enough. This was Draco’s time, and he didn’t appreciate Potter’s poaching. It didn’t help that the two of them looked so maddeningly cosy and natural together.

“A perfect little angel. She ate all her dinner, then we did her homework and she went right to bed.”

“That’s wonderful, Harry. Now suppose you tell me what really happened.” Hermione gave Harry a playful push away from her.

Harry fell over onto his side, clutching his chest. “I’m wounded. After all we’ve been through together you don’t even trust me with your child.”

“Very funny, Harry. Now talk.”

“This is what she’s like in interrogations, you know,” Harry cheerfully confided to Draco as he sat up, not quite as close as before. “Absolutely relentless.”

Hermione just glared at him so he explained. “She did eat all her dinner. It just wasn’t the one you left. I made her a deal that if she promised to do all her homework and go to bed without a fuss we could send out for pizza. And before you say anything, I got one with vegetables.”

“Bribery? That’s how you take care of my daughter? By bribing her?”

“No, that’s how I spoil my niece. It’s an uncle’s prerogative.”

“Hmm. I can’t expect any support from you, since you spoil her too,” Hermione said to Draco. “I guess I’m on my own in the responsible child-rearing endeavour,” she concluded with a smile for both of them.

Draco wondered if it was true that he spoiled Nicola. She was hard to say no to.

“So how was the reception?” Harry asked.

“Oh, you know, the usual. Umbridge resigned, Draco fired Fudge, and I have to wear a dress to the Valentine’s Day Ball. Nothing special,” Hermione replied airily. “I’ll just go fix some tea.”

Harry goggled after her. “She’s joking, right?”

Draco finally removed his cloak and lowered himself into an armchair. “Not at all.”

Harry thought for a moment and decided to wait for Hermione’s return to ask about the political developments. “So. Hermione in a fancy dress. Kind of like putting a tutu on a Manticore.”

Draco discovered an entirely new level of fury. How dare he compare Hermione to a vicious beast? But of course **he** could. He could call her anything he liked. After all, he was privy to the secrets of her soul and he’d had the pleasure of her body. Hell, he’d probably had her right there, on that very sofa. Or on the coffee table. Spread out, naked, while he licked honey off her breasts, her thighs… Draco censored his thoughts. He could handle being jealous of Harry Potter – he’d been doing it most of his life – but he would not let Potter into his own favourite fantasy scenario. Honey-covered Hermione belonged to him, even if it was only in his own mind, and he was not sharing her.

Harry noted the clenching of Draco’s jaw and the tensing of his shoulders. “Just a joke, mate.”

“Of course,” Draco replied, tightly.

The tension was broken when Hermione brought in the tea tray. She had set it down on the coffee table and started pouring. When she was fixing up their cups, Draco stood up abruptly.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked.

“No. I’m just tired.” He stood up and headed toward the bathroom. “You two have your tea, I’ll just get changed.”

Draco stood in the bathroom, resting his head against the cool tiled wall. He knew that he had behaved like an arse, but it couldn’t be helped. She had been holding the damned honeybear. He’d watched, mesmerized, as her hand had gripped it and then shifted, adjusting to its contours. Her fingers wrapped around it, grasping it firmly as she turned it over and slowly squeezed out the sweet nectar from its tip.

It had taken all his self-control to contain the moan that threatened to escape his lips. Somehow, he doubted that she would ever be able to enjoy her tea again if she knew where that honeybear went in his fantasies.

…

 

They were sitting around a table on the pool deck. Lavender and Akio were swimming with the children. Harry and Ron were there to work out their plans for taking out Fudge’s co-conspirators. Both Draco and Hermione found it awkward being together and not putting on their usual show. Draco was so used to reaching for Hermione whenever she was near that he kept finding himself with his arm halfway outstretched and having to pull it back. Hermione was having trouble not sliding her chair closer to his so she could lean on his shoulder. It was a nice shoulder and she had become quite fond of leaning on it.

Ron got himself yet another plateful of canapes from the buffet full of nibbles and drinks set up near them. “This is the life. I should have been born rich,” he declared.

“You should have been born with some common sense. If you try to swim after eating all of that you’ll cramp up and drown,” Hermione retorted.

“Nah, Harry’d never let me drown. Wouldya, mate?” Years of practice had allowed Ron to master the art of being understood even when he spoke through a mouthful of food.

Harry smiled. “Not in front of the sprogs. Now, can we get to it? I want to get in that pool before the sun sets.”

Draco explained that he had casually mentioned to Fudge that some things had been out of place in his home and that, when he had queried the house elves, they’d had an interesting story to tell. “He suddenly became very amenable to suggestion.”

Harry and Ron both grinned, but it was Hermione who asked, “And what exactly did you suggest?”

“I simply remarked that it would be a shame if he were forced from office while Umbridge was still his deputy and that if she were out of the way he would be able to retire with his reputation intact.

Ron gaped at him. “You didn’t actually say it like that, did you? No one is that cool. You had to have told him what a miserable, slimy piece of shite he is, yeah?”

“That would not have served my purpose.”

“Yeah, but it would have felt good,” Ron replied.

Draco just smirked.

“Whatever Draco said, it seems to have been effective. Umbridge is gone and Fudge is as good as,” Hermione summed up. “Which means that we are now free to go after the rest of the gang. What is our next move?”

“The embezzlement scheme,” Harry offered. “They couldn’t have made it up, it’s real. But it isn’t Umbridge’s style. She might have been involved or she might not, but she would never have been the one to set it up. My guess is they were all part of it and they set her up to take the fall for it.”

“Tha’ doesn’ make thense.” Ron was speaking through his food again. They waited while he gulped some butterbeer to wash it down. “If they wanted money, why didn’t they touch Draco’s? There’s a lot more in the Malfoy vaults than they could ever have got this way.”

“True,” Draco conceded. “But there is a reason my family chose to keep funds in Gringotts. The goblin are incorruptible. The Minister of Magic had the authority to use the money as he saw fit, but the goblins would have insisted on a full paper trail. They would have kept records on where every Knut went and records on government expenditures are all public.”

Hermione nodded. “The embezzlement involved diverting Ministry funds before they were banked, so they only had to work with human operators, who are much easier to either corrupt or fool. So, the embezzlement is one angle. Harry, you’ll look into that. Ron, you contact your usual networks to see what you can find out about these men.”

“What can I do?” Draco asked.

“Look pretty, of course. It’s what you do best, after all,” Ron teased.

Draco started to growl, but Hermione cut them both off. “That’s enough of that. Draco, can you work the personal angle? We have access to the documents but we don’t move in their social circles. We need to know who the key players are in case we want to apply some leverage.”

“Fudge’s wife,” Draco stated. “His political career and lifestyle are based entirely on her family’s fortune. If she found out about the other family, he’d lose everything.”

“Wait a minute,” Ron interjected. “I thought we were done with Fudge.”

Draco and Hermione exchanged looks, but it was Harry who answered. “You’re kidding, right? Two Aurors were given false orders and then Obliviated on his behalf. He doesn’t get to walk away from this scot-free.”

“The problem is that there are children involved. They may be Fudge’s children, but they are still innocent bystanders,” Hermione pointed out. “If the whole thing comes out into the open, their lives will be hell.”

“The family would do everything possible to prevent that,” Draco assured her. “They are very conservative, old-money purebloods. They would just quietly cut him off. At worst they would have him got rid of, but they would never go public. On the other hand, that would mean that he could no longer support those children.”

“Exactly. Not to mention the possibility that she would be so distraught that she would trumpet the story of her betrayal to the world despite her family’s disapproval. We need to tread carefully here. Draco, do you have any contacts in that family? Would you be able to sound them out on her temperament and how things stand in that marriage?”

Draco nodded. “A cousin of hers has investments in some of the same companies that I do. Since I’m just taking over the family portfolio, it would be reasonable for me to ask him to catch me up on developments in those businesses. After a few drinks I’ll steer the conversation to his family, see what I can find out. I’ll get Akio on it as well.”

“Your faggot pool-boy?”

By the time Draco had registered the offensiveness of Ron’s comment, the redhead was sprawled on the ground several feet away. Draco raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Hermoine’s use of wandless magic.

“I lost my wand once.”

“Bad experience?” he asked almost casually.

“It turned out well in the end, but it might not have. I learned not to rely on my wand.”

Draco nodded and turned to reach for his glass, swirling the contents before lifting it to his nose and breathing in deeply to get the full benefit of the aroma. He took only a small sip before setting it back down.

Harry was not entirely sure what had just happened, but he strongly suspected that it would be best for all concerned if he left it alone.

As Ron sheepishly righted his chair and sat back down, Hermione picked up as if there had been no interruption. “Key may indeed be able to get some useful information. It seems he has been building quite the network among the gay wizards of London. Chances are one of his friends decorates or does hairdressing for someone connected to the family, maybe even Mrs. Fudge herself.”

“Well, that’s all we can do for now,” Hermione decided. “I’m just going to make some notes. The rest of you might as well join the kids in the pool.”

…

Harry and Ron got changed. As they headed back towards the pool, Harry glanced over and saw Draco pouring a glass of white wine. “That’s odd,” he remarked to Ron.

“What is?”

“Malfoy was drinking red.”

They watched as Draco placed the glass in front of Hermione and crouched down to talk to her. They saw her laugh at something he said and smile mischievously as she responded with something that got a chuckle out of him. She looked for a moment like the old Hermione, the one from before the war. Then they watched Draco’s hand reach towards hers, only to be snatched back before it got there. Hermione’s smile faded and Draco stood and walked away from her.

“Did you just see that?” Harry asked Ron.

“Yeah, mate. They’re both pretty well gagging for it.”

Harry chuckled. “I’m surprised they’ve held out this long. How much longer do you give them?”

“Oh, no,” Akio broke in, coming up from behind them. “We don’t talk about that around here. We don’t hint at it. We don’t encourage it. We don’t even think about it.”

“Why not? They are obviously mad for each other,” Ron asked.

Akio fixed Ron with a glare. “Do you think I don’t know that? I know that. You know that. The house-elves know that. They are the only ones who don’t know that.”

Harry took a half step back to get away from the wildly gesticulating hands.

“I’m stuck in this house with two people who are slowly going insane because they are too stubborn to talk about whatever it was that happened between them before and put it behind them so they can get on with bumping their bits together and making more little munchkins.”

“Is that what this is all about?” Harry asked. “But that was…”

“NO! Do not tell me!” Akio threw his hands up and stepped back in exaggerated alarm. “Whatever it is, I’m better off not knowing. It’s hard enough not meddling when I don’t know what it is I’m not meddling in. If you tell me, I’ll slip up and the Boss-man will kill whatever is left after Dollface over there gets through kicking the shit out of me. After that, they’ll never speak to each other again. Believe me, it’s better this way. If we leave them alone they might manage to work it out for themselves.”

Ron looked at Harry. “Sounds like our little Hermione’s finally found someone wound as tight as she is.”

“Mmm. They’re perfect for each other,” Harry agreed.

Draco came over to join them, having changed as well. He raised an eyebrow at Akio who took the hint and left the three men alone.

“Listen, Weasley. I need to say something to you. You too, Potter.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re all excited that I think you’re pretty. But really, I just don’t do blokes. Sorry,” Ron replied with a huge grin.

Harry smiled, but Draco didn’t. “I’m serious.”

“Oh. All right then.”

“I just want to tell you how much I appreciate what you’re doing here,” Draco explained. “After what happened to your sister, well, it’s unexpected.”

Ron furrowed his brow. “Erm. Yeah. Harry? Any idea what he’s talking about?”

Harry glowered at Draco. “Did something happen between you and Ginny that we should know about?”

“You mean besides my getting her killed? I would think that would do it.”

Harry gaped at him while Ron scratched his head and asked, “Would you care to explain that one? ‘Cause Gin died in the last battle and the way I remember it, you were fighting on our side during that one.”

It was Draco’s turn to glare. “Of course I was. I planned that operation. I was supposed to know where all the other Death Eaters were. That corridor should have been empty, but it wasn’t. If I’d gotten my information straight, she wouldn’t have been in that fight.”

Ron threw up his hands. “You’re shitting me, right? It was a war. Nothing goes the way you expect it to. She knew that, we all knew that. Look, mate, I’m not happy my sister died, but it was as clean an operation as I ever saw. We only lost two people that whole day and we took out Voldemort and his entire headquarters. You can’t do better than that. It was no one’s fault.” He cocked his head to one side and looked straight at Harry. “Isn’t that right?”

Harry turned away, his fists and jaw tightly clenched.

“I said, isn’t that right, Harry?” Ron repeated, more forcefully this time.

Harry turned back slowly. “I guess.”

“You should bloody well **know**.” Draco had never heard Ron speak this way before. His voice was low and even, a controlled anger that commanded attention, unlike the childish rants he was used to from the redhead. “You see, Malfoy, Harry here thinks it’s **his** fault we lost Gin. Thinks if he hadn’t been in such a rush to get to Voldemort he would have been there and blocked that curse. And now you come along and say it’s your fault. Well, I have news for both of you. A fucking Death Eater killed my sister.” He looked at Draco. “If you had taken the time to check every bloody corridor, we would never have got in before the rest of the Death Eaters came back and we’d still be fighting the bloody war.” Then he looked at Harry. “And if you had waited around securing corridors, we would have lost the element of surprise and Voldemort would have killed you instead of the other way round.” He stepped back from them both. “I said my goodbyes to Gin the day we buried her and got on with my life, the way she would have wanted us all to. So could the two of you please get your heads out of your arses and move on?”

He took two steps and launched himself headfirst into the water. They watched as his powerful strokes took him all the way to the other end of the pool before he broke the surface, grabbing his surprised wife and dunking her, much to the children’s delight.

“This sucks,” Draco muttered.

“What?”

“I’m going to have to stop hating him.”

“Yeah. He can be annoying that way.” Harry gave Draco a light punch on the arm. “But look at the bright side, you can still hate me.”

“Nah. You’ve been helping me with Nicky and getting back at the fuckwits who stole my house. I had to get over it.”

“Hey, Ron’s doing those things too.”

“I was trying to overlook that,” Draco muttered.

Harry chuckled. “Ah. Well, you can’t hate Hermione, anymore. What about Fudge and his little gang? They’re pretty hateable.”

“That’s true.”

“See? You’re still a bitter, hateful git. You’ve just moved on to new and better enemies.”

“Are you mocking me, Potter?”

“What could possibly make you think that?” Harry replied, laughing. He ran to the pool, jumping up and grabbing his knees to his chest as he sailed over the water. The impact from his cannonball reached Draco, splashing water across his midsection.

“Prick,” Draco muttered, but he said it with a smile.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: The stunning manip of Hermione dressed for the ball was a gift from the talented and generous MoonJamesKitten.

As the ball approached, Draco was getting anxious. For one thing, the potion was becoming less effective. He needed more to get through an evening, but at higher doses he was starting to experience side effects. He could handle the shooting pains in his testes – anyone who had served Voldemort as long as he had was used to pain – it was the irritability that bothered him. Or rather, the fact that it made him irritable while it was working. He didn’t mind being irritable on his own, but he hated inflicting it on Hermione.

For their last night as a pretend couple, he was damned if he was going to act like a bastard. He knew it would pretty near kill him not to make the most of his last chance to hold her in his arms and pretend that she was his, but better to lose a few moments of bliss than to have her last memory of their time together be tainted by his surliness.

…

Hermione was freaking out about the dress. Akio had been adamant that she could not have even a peek, which had been awkward during her fittings. She had felt quite ridiculous trying on a dress blindfolded with a darkness spell around her head, but Akio was taking no chances. She knew it was skimpy. It felt frighteningly light on her body, just a whisper of fabric that didn’t seem to cover much above her waist. Akio’s cooing about how fabulous she looked was little comfort since she had discovered that he frequented Muggle drag shows.

“No feathers, right?”

“Not a feather in sight.”

“Or sequins? Or cutouts? Or… gods, I don’t even know what drag queens wear these days. Just promise me I won’t look ridiculous,” she pleaded.

“I promise. Classy and gorgeous, sweetheart.”

…

Draco was pacing nervously. Everyone could see it and, what was worse, he knew everyone could see it. He just couldn’t stop. Hermione wasn’t there. The ball had begun over an hour earlier and Hermione was not there. She had insisted on meeting there, rather than going together as they usually did. Something about wanting him to see her all done up in the proper setting.

Of course, it was meant to be their last date. Maybe she had decided to end the relationship a day early by standing him up. That would be out of character, though. Hermione was not the type to duck an awkward situation. But then, there was nothing particularly awkward about this for her. She was getting her life back; Draco was losing his. This was his last chance to play the devoted boyfriend, to hold her in his arms and tell her how much she meant to him. And he would. He had promised himself that at the end of the evening he would tell her that this time they had shared had been very special to him and that he would always treasure his memories of her. Just enough to let her know it was not all a show without causing any embarrassment. He needed this one last night and it was slipping away. Where the hell was she?

Harry’s presence was the only thing that kept him from going mad with worry. Any major Auror operation that might have called her into the field and put her at risk would have involved Harry as well, but there he was, casually chatting with Luna and Ron and Lavender.

…

Hermione was having boob trouble.

“This isn’t working, Key. The left one is too high and the right one is trying to crawl into my armpit.”

“They are stick-on bra cups, Dollface, not complex Arithmancy problems. How is it possible that you can hunt down Dark wizards and you can’t manage simple breast support?”

“I don’t know. Can’t I just wear a regular bra? We can charm it to be invisible.”

“With this dress? Not a chance. The straps would pull in all the wrong places. You can go braless.”

“NEVER!”

Akio sighed deeply. “Fine. The stores are still open, I’ll go get another set of stick-ons. We’ll make this work somehow.”

He brought half a dozen, but after working her way through three of them, Hermione was ready to give up.

“It’s a sign. I’m just not supposed to wear dresses.”

“Fuggedaboutit. I’m coming in!”

Akio stepped into Hermione’s bedroom where she was struggling with the stick-ons in front of a full-length mirror.

“Key! What do you think you are doing?” Hermione crossed her arms over her chest as she stood there wearing nothing but the sheer lace panties and thigh-high stockings he had carefully selected to be sure no seams or lines would show through the dress and the diamond earrings and bracelet he had arranged for her to borrow for the evening.

“Trust me, Sweetie, this is going to be weirder for me than it will be for you. Now drop your arms and let me get you fitted.”

Hermione stood with her arms at her sides and tried not to flinch as Akio gently lifted each breast and fitted it neatly into a cup.

“There. Perfectly balanced and perfectly gorgeous. I always knew you had a delicious figure hiding in there.”

“Oh, please,” replied Hermione, rolling her eyes. “Just get me into the dress and let’s get this nightmare over with.

“Fine. Don’t believe me.” Akio managed to shrug at the same time as he carefully lifted the dress over the elaborate upswept hairdo he had spent nearly an hour creating – the hairpins were charmed not to come out on their own, but he was not taking any chances. “But I’m telling you, Boss-man is going to take one look at you and start drooling all over his pretty dress robes. I should give you a bib to take along for him.”

“Stop it, Key,” Hermione pled. “I’m nervous enough without you making a bigger deal out of this than it deserves. We’ll get one last set of pictures, Draco will be able to take pride in the fact that at least once I looked the part, and it will be over.”

Akio’s face fell. “Is that what you want, Honey?”

“It’s what there is. Now. Let me see this dress.”

Akio stepped back so Hermione could see her reflection.

“That’s not too bad,” she stated. The deep aubergine suited her colouring and the finely-knit fabric skimmed her curves, showing them off without clinging too closely. Floral embroidery in tones of pink and green followed the neckline like a garland, dressing up an otherwise simple gown. The neckline was lower than she was used to, but not enough to really show any cleavage. The only real issue was the fact that it was sleeveless, showing the scars on her arms and her right shoulder. Akio had wanted to cast a Glamour to hide them, but Hermione had refused.

“Turn around.”

As she caught sight of the back of the gown, Hermione stopped breathing. The dress itself plunged deeply, leaving her back covered by a fine net that supported the most stunning embroidery she had ever seen. Loops of flowered vines left a space for a single, jewel-bright hummingbird that flitted about, tasting the nectar from the blossoms that surrounded it. It was, quite simply, the single most stunning creation Hermione had ever seen in years of attending fancy balls.

“It’s famous in the Muggle world. Some actress wore it somewhere, but no one there tonight should recognize it. Besides, it looks better on you than it ever did on her. She didn’t have the coloring for it, just washed her out completely.”

Hermione didn’t hear a word he said. “That’s one way to win a bet,” she thought. In that dress, she would, indeed, get attention in the society pages. Or rather, the dress would. Draco would win his bet and she would have to take responsibility for their break-up. Hermione had never felt so uncomfortable in her life. She was mutton dressed as lamb. The dress was far too ostentatious and glamourous for her. The gossips would be falling over themselves trying to find words to describe the incongruity of a battle-scarred soldier trying to outshine famed society beauties. She was going to spend her last evening with the man who had captured her heart, knowing that she was the centre of attention for every critical eye and maliciously wagging tongue in the room.

…

Hermione squared her shoulders and took a deep breath before entering the ballroom. At that moment, it seemed like the hardest thing she had ever done. “This is ridiculous,” she told herself as she walked in and looked around for familiar faces. “You have faced armies of Death Eaters. This is just a party. Where the hell is Harry?”

She spotted her friends and made her way over to them, pasting a fake smile onto her face. “Sorry I’m late. Have you all been having fun?”

Ron’s jaw dropped. Harry gaped. Luna smiled. Lavender stepped back and walked around Hermione to be sure she got the full effect from all angles. “Oh, Hermione! That is just the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen. Look at this, Ron!” She took Hermione by the shoulders and turned her around, showing off the back of the dress to her friends and the rest of the ballroom. Conversation died down as people began to take note. By the time Hermione turned back, most of the room’s attention was focused on her.

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“Bloody hell, Hermione. That’s a bit different,” Ron managed to get out once Lavender encouraged him with a none-too-gentle elbow to the ribs.

Hermione wondered whether there was any blood left in her limbs or if it had all gone directly to her face. She briefly considered fleeing when she looked up and saw Draco striding across the floor towards her.

From the moment she had walked in, looking for all the world like a princess from legend, he had been frozen in admiration. He watched her greet her friends and turn, showing off her beauty for all to gaze upon. He could see her nervousness, but it was not until he saw her face turn red that it occurred to him that anything might be wrong. If her friends were not letting her enjoy her moment of glory, then it was up to him to save the situation.

“I wonder if I might have the pleasure of a dance with the most beautiful woman in the room?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her face.

Ron guffawed.

Harry put a possessive arm around Luna and said, “Sorry mate, she’s already taken. You’ll have to settle for Hermione.”

Hermione took one look at her laughing friends’ faces, turned on her heel and fled.

Draco stared at Harry in shock. Being gallant to your date was one thing, but insulting the woman you love in public was unworthy of even a low-class git like Potter.

“What the hell did you two idiots say to her?” he ground out.

“Nothing, mate. Really. It’s just not normal for Hermione to look, well, you know…” Ron explained.

“What? Beautiful? Just once in your miserable little lives you couldn’t support her instead of knocking her down?” He turned to Harry. “Well, aren’t you going to go after her?”

Harry shook his head. “I think that’s your job.”

Draco’s lip curled. “I can’t imagine what she sees in you,” he sneered at Harry. “Hell, she’d be better off without either one of you.”

“What a pompous git,” Ron said as Draco left the room in search of Hermione. “Where does he get off saying we treat Hermione badly? He’s the one that called her names for all those years.

“That was a long time ago,” Harry replied, speculatively. “Luna, do you think we’re bad friends to Hermione?”

“No, of course not. You and Ron would do anything in the world to give her what she wants. She just needs to find out what that is.”

Harry smiled. “What do you want?”

“A glass of champagne would be a nice start,” Luna replied. “He has such lovely wings,” she added as Harry went off to get her drink.

“Eh?” Ron’s reply might have been more articulate if Lavender had not been discreetly grinding her heel into his foot.

“Harry. He’s like a butterfly just coming out of his cocoon and stretching his lovely wings. He’ll be so beautiful when he flies, don’t you think?” Luna’s smile was pure radiance.

“I certainly do. And you are just the woman to teach him how,” Lavender declared.

…

Draco caught up with Hermione while she was waiting for her cloak. He took her by the arm and pulled her along a hallway until he found an empty room. Closing the door behind them, he leant on it, cutting off her only avenue for escape. “What happened out there?”

“I hate this damn dress,” she fretted. “There is nowhere to put anything. If I’d had my wand on me I would be home by now.”

“I would have just found you there.”

“Why? So you can mock me some more? Come to laugh at the freak half-woman playing human Barbie doll games? Go ahead, have your laugh.” She stood glaring at him.

“I’m not laughing. I meant what I said. You were the most beautiful woman in that room.”

“Oh, please.” She turned away, wrapping her arms around her waist and hunching her shoulders. “Maybe you weren’t, but everyone else was. I’m not this kind of woman, Draco. I don’t belong in these clothes. It’s time to call this charade off, before I embarrass you any further.”

“You couldn’t embarrass me if you tried. But this isn’t about me, is it? It’s about Harry.”

“Harry?” She turned back to look at him, still curled into herself. “No, of course not. Harry doesn’t care how I look. I never felt like I had to pretend to be someone I’m not just to be with Harry.”

“Maybe not, but it can’t be very pleasant hearing the man you are in love with tell another woman how beautiful she is.”

“The man I’m…?” In her astonishment she dropped her hands and straightened up. “Why would you think I’m in love with Harry?”

“I don’t know, maybe because you’ve been sleeping with him for the past five years. Or the fact that the two of you can’t stay away from each other for five minutes. The way you always touch each other.”

“I have never been in love in with Harry and Harry’s not in love with me. We’re not like that. We’re just …”

Draco waited on tenterhooks. A small, faint ray of hope was struggling to find its way into his heart. Whatever she said next would make him the happiest man in the world or shatter his every dream.

“Harry never got over losing Ginny. I was just a substitute.”

Draco very carefully put his need to break every bone in Potter’s face aside for another time. “That explains him. It doesn’t explain you.”

“I just … I like sex.”

Draco froze. Hermione Granger, the object of his wildest fantasies, the woman he wanted more than air and thought he could never have, was standing in front of him telling him she liked sex. And she wasn’t taken. And she liked sex. And she was available. Available. Not in love with Harry Fucking Potter. Not beyond reach. Available. The next words he spoke could be the most important of his life. What the fuck was he supposed to say?

Draco extended his hand slowly. He spoke carefully, one word at a time. “Hi. I’m Draco Malfoy. I think we should start over. I want to date you. Not for show, not because of Nicola. This time, it’s about you.”

“You are joking, right?”

“No. Why would I be joking?” He was barely breathing, terrified that the wrong move would blow his one chance at happiness.

“Because I’m me. Look at me. This is not what you want.” Of all the horrors of that day, she had not imagined having to actually discuss her physical shortcomings with Draco. Could this day get any worse?

Draco took a careful breath. She hadn’t said that he wasn’t what she wanted, so that was good. Of course, he still had no idea what she was talking about. “I’m quite sure it is.”

“Don’t do this, Draco, don’t tease me.” She couldn’t understand why he would be so cruel. “I’ve seen the kinds of women you date. I’m not like them. I can’t be.”

“Why would you want to? I don’t want you to be like them.”

Hermione turned back to sneer at him. “The Witches Weekly cover models? Wizarding Manhattan’s hottest bachelorettes? We did a very thorough report on you, I know what kind of women you are used to. There is good news, though. I’ll never doubt your sincerity in wanting to be a father to Nicky after having tarnished your image by being seen out with me.”

His reserve broke, letting his emotions wash over him. “I think I’ve had enough of you casting aspersions on my character. Where do you get off telling me what I find embarrassing and what image I want to project? If Potter is idiot enough not to tell you how beautiful you are, then that’s his problem. Yes, I started seeing you as part of our scheme to get me into Nicky’s life. But give me a little credit here. Not everything we have done has been for show, and I for one have enjoyed every minute of it. If you want to call it off, I can’t stop you. But don’t tell me I don’t want to be with you. You are the one pulling away here.”

It was Hermione’s turn to look confused. “What are you saying?”

“That I would very much like to keep seeing you. That I want to be with you.”

“Despite the way I look.”

“Fucking hell, woman! Did you miss the part where I said how beautiful you are? I love the way you look! I can’t get enough of looking at you!”

“Why are you doing this, you miserable lying bastard?” Hermione broke. Her heart was breaking and she lost all vestiges of dignity, of pride, of reserve and cried out her agony. “Did you think I was so naïve that I wouldn’t notice? What twisted game are you playing?”

“This is no game!” he roared. “I want you, more than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything. I thought you were in love with Potter. I didn’t think I had a chance, but I swear to you, I haven’t thought of anyone but you for months.”

She glared at him. “Right. Sorry, Draco, but I know a little more than that about male anatomy.” She turned to walk away.

Draco lunged for her, grabbing her arm and forcing her to face him. “What the hell are you talking about? Tell me, please,” he begged her shamelessly. “Whatever it is, just tell me.”

“You don’t respond to me.” She glanced downwards and explained, “There.” Meeting his eyes again, with tears beginning to form in her own, she added, “You can’t expect me to believe that you want me when you can’t even get it up for me.”

He tried not to laugh. He really did. But it wouldn’t be denied.

Hermione pulled away from him in fury. “You fuck! This is all a game to you!”

Draco caught up and threw his arms around her, pinning hers to her sides as she squirmed to get away. “I wasn’t laughing at you. Please, Hermione. Listen to me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I love you.”

She froze. “I’m listening.”

He kept her trapped in his arms, letting himself feel her curves pressed against him and slowly ground his growing erection against her hip. “This is what you do to me, when I let you.” He loosened his hold enough to move around so he could face her, still encircled in his arms. “I’ve been taking a potion. I didn’t think I had a chance and I didn’t want to scare you off. So I tried to hide it from you. This…” and he pressed against her, letting her feel how very hard he had suddenly become and lowering his voice to a sensual growl, “happens every time I think about you. I want you, Hermione. More than I’ve ever wanted any woman.”

Then he let her go. She had to make the choice.

“Oh.” Hermione sat down.

“What do you want?”

“Me?” She thought for a moment. “No one ever asks what I want.”

Draco smiled and crouched down in front of her, looking up into her face. “I’m asking.”

She raised her chin and met his eyes. “I want to take this pretty dress out on the dance floor and show it off to the world, and damn anyone who doesn’t think it suits me.”

Draco smiled and stood before her. He bowed low, offering his hand. “If I might have the pleasure of a dance, milady?”

She took his hand and held onto it tightly as they made their way back to the ballroom and out onto the floor, her head held high. She felt hundreds of eyes on her as Draco twirled her about the room, but he held her gaze steadily until the dance was done. “Now what?” she whispered.

“That is up to you. We can dance some more,” he replied, keeping his eyes on hers as he pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed her fingers before folding them over his own with his other hand. “Or I can take you home and we can see what happens.”

Hermione blushed but held his gaze. “Home, please.”

…

He held back until she opened the door, not quite managing to refrain from touching her. One hand caressing the small of her back did not, he decided, count as fondling. As soon as the door was open, though, he stepped through, gathering her in his arms as he cleared the threshold. He kicked the door closed behind them as their lips touched. These were no soft, hesitant kisses. They devoured each other, lips and tongues clutching and swirling hungrily. All their self-conscious fears of appearing inexperienced were forgotten as instinct took over and their tongues twirled and stroked and tasted. Their hands grasped and pulled, desperately seeking their way through the layers of clothing. Draco couldn’t get enough of the taste of her in his mouth and the feel of her pressed against his body. It was not until he felt her leg wrap around his hips that he pulled back.

Both their cloaks lay on the floor along with his jacket and waistcoat and her dress was hiked up nearly to her waist. “Not like this,” he gasped. “I took you like an animal once. By Merlin himself, I am going to do it right this time.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hall to her bedroom where he stopped and took her face between his hands, kissing her softly until she pressed her tongue between his lips, needing to explore the polished ridge of his teeth, the velvety texture of his inner cheeks, and the shape of the cavern of his mouth. Then softness was forgotten in a battle of thrusting and stroking, each trying to possess the other at the same time as they were swept up in the pleasure of being possessed.

He found the hidden zip on her left side and slid it open, reaching in to touch the soft skin underneath as Hermione slipped the dress down from her shoulders and peeled it off, ripping the stick-ons away with it. Draco sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her between his legs. He ran his fingers down her sides, over her hips, to catch the tops of her stockings, pulling them both down over her firm, supple thighs, down past the curves of her calves and holding them as she stepped out of one after the other. His control slipping, he took one tightly furled nipple into his mouth and gently suckled her as his hands worked to remove her knickers, leaving her completely bare to his gaze. He had waited so long to see her like that, but he couldn’t hold back. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her towards him, his mouth feasting on her neck, her breasts, her belly, while his hands roamed over every inch of her precious, silken skin.

Hermione was moaning in pleasure when her knees began to give out and she slid onto the bed next to him, her hands pulling at his clothes. Draco managed to stop touching her just long enough to strip himself naked and crawl onto the bed, positioning himself above her, his rock-hard, aching cock posed at her entrance. “I won’t last long,” he warned.

“I won’t need much,” she replied. Then he was in her, and they were both thrusting and bucking, forcing their bodies together as if they could press past their skins and merge into a single, pulsating mass. He found her mouth and sucked hungrily as their passion built, then pulled away, afraid of taking too much, demanding more than she could give. He fought the urge to bite into her smooth, resilient flesh, to claw his fingers into her firmness, to mark her, to tear her, to own her. His hips kept moving, joining to her, merging with that incandescent heat while his mind struggled for control. He was near the breaking point, caught up in the waves of passion that were rushing him past the shores of sanity when he felt her teeth sink into his shoulder and he was lost. With a roar he attacked her, biting, pounding, grabbing, clawing, burying himself in the inferno of lust and joy and delirium that was his Hermione, his beloved, his Life, his Soul, his Holy FUCKING SHIT, YES, YES, YES, YESSSSS!!!!!

He fought for breath through his raw, aching throat. Nothing had ever felt like that. It defied description. He floated near the edge of consciousness, letting the incredible sensation of fulfillment wash over him.

“Draco?”

Shit. Fuck. Cursed hounds of hell, what had he done? “Hermione? Are you OK?”

She pushed against his chest. “I will be if I can get some air.”

He rolled off of her. Of all the times in his life to lose control, this was the last moment he would have chosen. What could he say?

Hermione was shaken. It had been everything she had fantasized and more. Raw and powerful, she had been swept up in the moment and let herself go in ways she had never imagined possible. What would he think?

Her practical nature asserted itself. Thoughts could wait. She reached for the tissues and pulled out a few to hand to him. Then she took some for herself. She cleaned herself and lay there for a moment, hoping for inspiration. None struck. Closing her eyes and sending a quick prayer for luck to Nimue, she turned to face Draco.

He lay still on his back, afraid to move. Of all the fuck-ups in his fuck-up strewn life, this had to be the worst. At the very moment that he had achieved his greatest desire, he had proven himself to be the vicious, violent animal he had always feared. He would find a hole to crawl into and never emerge into the light again.

Her finger brushed across a bite mark on his shoulder. “I…I bit you. I’m sorry.” Her voice was hesitant, shaky even. In the aftermath of the most intense sexual experience of her life, she could not help but wonder how men, or rather this man, would respond to a woman so evidently losing all control.

Draco carefully counted to three before he responded. “I don’t mind.” Mind? You drove me into a frenzy of lust, I brutalized you, I marked you like a rabid wolf claiming his mate, I let out the mindless beast that dwells within me, and you’re sorry?

“You’re not disgusted?”

Very cautiously, he turned on his side to face her. He reached out a finger and traced the outlines of each mark he had left on her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. “Are you?”

Hermione shivered. “I liked it.” That was an understatement. She had heard of mindless passion, but had always believed it to be a myth. He had seared her soul and shattered her last shred of reserve. She was wholly his.

He silently offered up prayers of thanks to every deity he had ever heard of. “I’m glad,” he replied softly. He reached out again, this time tracing the pale, silvered marks that crossed her torso. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

She struggled to hold it back, but one, small sob escaped. Please, she begged silently, let me have this moment. Even if it never comes again, even if he wakes up tomorrow and realizes that it was all a mistake, please let me have this moment.

“No, my love.” He pulled her in close and murmured in her ear. “Please. Don’t be sad. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it. Just tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you.”

She delved deep into her soul and found the core of strength that had always sustained her in her darkest moments. “I’m just a bit emotional,” she said. “It’s nothing.”

“Would the moon help? The stars? A planet perhaps?” She had somehow ended up with her head pillowed on his shoulder as he stroked her hair with one hand and encircled her waist, holding her firmly against him with the other. “Anything you want, Hermione. I mean it. Anything at all.”

“Just…just hold me.”

“Forever.”

He heard her breath catch. Something he was doing was wrong. Somehow he was hurting her, but he was damned if he knew what it was. “Please, Hermione. Speak to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“You can’t…I’m not…Oh, fuck it.” She pushed herself out of his arms and launched herself across to the desk where she pulled the folder out of the drawer. “You don’t really want me. You’re just frustrated from being celibate so long. I’m sorry, I did that to you. But you have to see, you have to look at me, really look at me and see what I am. I’m not like them. You can dress me up and decorate me but I’ll never be like them,” she wailed.

Draco took the folder from her shaking hand and let it spill open on the bed. Ailish and Karyss and Calinda all smiled up at him, blowing kisses and winking suggestively. He shuddered. “I don’t want them. I want you.”

“Only because you’ve gone so long without. Look at them, Draco. Really look at them. And then look at me.”

He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t deny her anything, no matter how idiotic. He picked up the first picture and studied it. Then he looked up at Hermione, standing in front of him, naked and shaking in her distress and tossed the picture on the floor at her feet. He did it again with the second and the third. One at a time he made his way through the pile. His arms were screaming to reach for her, but he held himself back. If she needed him to play this game, then he would see it through. One depressing picture of a meaningless, loveless moment with a shallow, vain, empty-headed witch at a time. “I’ve looked. I still don’t want them. Tell me what I have to do to convince you,” he begged.

“I’m not beautiful.”

In one move he was sitting on the edge of the bed in front of her. He reached out and traced the pale, silvery scar on her belly. “What was that from?”

“Department of Mysteries.”

Draco flinched but kept his eyes fixed on the spot where his finger touched the soft skin of her stomach. “Was it…?”

“Your father? No.”

He took a breath and went on. “That one?” he asked, pointing to an angry red line on her left shoulder.

“Boxing Day, that operation in Southampton.”

“You didn’t tell me you were hurt.”

“It wasn’t serious.”

There were a few more, mostly from the war. Draco’s eyes followed his finger from one to the other as she named them. Then he touched them each again and named them in his own way. “This one is courage. This one is loyalty. Justice. Friendship. Devotion. They are badges of honour. You know that, don’t you?”

“I used to.”

“What changed?”

“Someone tried to dress me up like a fashion plate and turn me into a girly girl. I can’t be something I’m not, Draco. I tried, but I can’t. Not even for you.”

He stood up slowly, moving past her to pick up the extravagant evening gown off of the floor. Then he crouched down and rummaged through his own clothes to find his wand. Standing, he tossed the dress into the air.  
“ _Incendio._ ” There was a brief burst of flame and it was gone.

“That cost a fortune!” Hermione gasped.

He took up his seat in front of her again, putting his wand down on the nightstand. “If it made you feel uncomfortable, it was less than worthless. I never meant to pressure you. You could wear a canvas sack and I’d be proud to be with you.”

“Then why? Why did you get me all those clothes?”

“Why did I…? I had nothing to do with that. I just gave Akio your shopping lists and told him to get whatever he thought you and Nicky needed. The clothes were his idea.”

“You didn’t encourage him?”

“No. But I didn’t discourage him either.” He shrugged. “Most girls like that sort of thing. I thought you were enjoying it.”

“I’m not most girls.”

“For which I am deeply grateful.” He reached for her once more, this time with both hands, and cupped her breasts. “You fed our child with these and I wasn’t there. I have missed so much. I don’t want to miss any more.” His thumbs brushed gently across her hardening nipples. “I want to sit down to dinner with you and Nicola every night and listen to her stories about her day and I want to help you tuck her into bed and then I want to sit with you in my arms and make plans for our future. I want to go to sleep every night with you beside me and wake up to find you still there.” He slid his hands up to her shoulders and then slowly drew them down her arms to capture hands. Bringing them together between them he added, “I don’t expect you to be ready for all that. Please, just give me a chance.” He leant down to kiss to her hands, then turned to press his cheek against them and waited for her reply.

“No more dress up?” she asked, beginning to smile.

“I promise.”

“You have to tell Key.” The smile had taken root and been joined by a quirked eyebrow.

He smiled back up at her. “Can’t I do something simple? Like slay a dragon or kill a Dark Lord?”

“No.”

“Fine. I’ll tell him. Just be sure to have healing potions on hand.” The smile faded from his face as he told her, “You **are** beautiful. Your soul.” His fingertips feathered across her forehead and down the sides of her face. “Your character.” They drifted downwards, teasing the sensitive lines of her throat. “Your strength.” They stroked outwards across her shoulders. “Your heart.” They swept in across her chest. “Your softness.” They pressed closer to cup and stroke her breasts. “Your passion.” Strong fingers closed around her nipples, kneading and rolling them into tight, puckered points. “I love you, Hermione. All of you. As you are.”

A small moan escaped her as his talented fingers danced over her aching nipples. She could not deny the effect he had on her body, could she deny him her heart?

“Why?” she whispered.

He let his hands drop. “Because you make me feel. I’ve been half alive for most of my life. You make me whole. In the past six months I have experienced more joy than I could have believed possible. But mostly, because the world is grey and dull without you in it. Your beauty radiates outward and brings colour to everything you touch. The question is, what do I do for you?”

“You make me smile,” she replied, and she did. “I hadn’t done that in a very long time. And you make me believe I can have the things I had given up on. Like love and trust and romance and passion and fun. You’ve awakened parts of me that I thought were dead and buried.”

“Is it enough? Will you give us a chance?”

She held his shoulders as she placed her knees beside his thighs, straddling him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she replied, “More than enough,” and brought her lips to his.

Draco allowed her only the briefest of kisses before he twisted her around and rolled over to lie on top of her. “Do you always want it rough or do you like gentle touches too?” he asked, pulling out the hairpins that had somehow managed to keep her curls up all this time and spreading her hair across the pillow.

“I think I would like anything you did to me.”

Draco grinned as he leaned back to get his wand from the nightstand. “ _Accio_ honeybear” were the last coherent words either of them spoke for a very long time.

 

A/N: The dress is, of course, the John Galliano number that Cate Blanchett wore to the 1999 Oscars – too well known to wear in front of Muggles, but a stunner in the wizarding world. Just picture the hummingbird flying around!


	11. Chapter 11

“Harry? Sweet-cheeks? Can I come through?”

There was only one man who had ever even thought of calling Harry “sweet-cheeks”. Well, there might have been others, but Harry was quite certain that he did not want to know about them. Besides, none of them would have had access to any of the three fireplaces that were connected to his on the Floo Network.

“Come on over, Key.”

No matter how many times he saw it, Harry would always be amused by the way that Akio stepped out of a fireplace. Not for him the standard, half-stumble. Neither did he rise to the elegant, poised stride that Draco managed. (Harry often wondered how many times Draco had practiced that particular manoevre to get it just right, not to mention just how vain a person would have to be to spend that much time practicing stepping out of fireplaces.) No. Akio burst through the fireplace at full speed, arms flailing wildly, and caught himself just at the moment when you were certain that he would fall flat on his face. Harry would have believed it to be a genuine problem for the diminutive wizard, a side-effect of having spent most of life living among Muggles, perhaps, if it were not the fact that he had seen precisely the same eye-catching, attention-grabbing performance several dozen times.

Dropping into a nearby armchair and throwing his head back, Akio declared, “Harry. Sweetheart. You have to help me. It’s a matter of life and death!”

Harry sprang to attention. “Whose life? Key, has anything happened to Nicky or Hermione?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Akio sat up just enough to glare at Harry. “If either of my darling girls was in trouble, do you think I’d be sitting around here?” He fingered the fabric of the armchair distastefully. “What is this, some kind of polyester? I can’t believe you live like this. I wouldn’t cover a garbage dump with this cheap crap.”

“Key? Focus. The matter of life and death? If it’s not Nicky or Hermione, who is it?”

“It’s me, you silly man. My life is at stake. They are killing me, slowly, one piece at a time. My soul is shriveling away …”

Grinning, Harry replied, “And by ‘they’ I assume you mean Draco and Hermione. What have they done now?”

“Done? What haven’t they done? Have you heard their latest plans for the wedding?”

“I have a bad feeling that I’m about to.”

“Darn tootin’ you are! A quiet little ceremony on the Hogwarts grounds followed by a picnic at the lake! Piles of sandwiches and fruit. Can you believe them? I have talked at them till I’m blue in the face, but they just won’t listen to sense. You have got to do something. We can’t let them go through with this farce.”

“Actually, I think that sounds pretty nice.”

“NICE? You want _NICE?_ Heroine Hermione is marrying Draco Malfoy, the reformed Death Eater who saved her life and ended the war, saving all of British wizardkind. When the evil Ministry turned against him, she rode to the rescue, brought him home and restored his fortune and now they are riding off into the sunset together to live happily ever after in divine, wedded bliss. Theirs is a romance for the ages. Songs will be written about them. Poets will vie to capture their love. It will be the wedding of the century. And they are reducing it to a fucking picnic.”

If there was one thing that Harry always appreciated about Akio, it was the way he recast the story of the Second Voldemort War to leave Harry out entirely. Akio knew exactly how much he hated being singled out for what was, without question, a massive group effort. “I gather you had something a bit more lavish in mind.”

“Harry, please. I’m begging you. At least a pavilion. Something I can decorate. A little dance floor, a sit-down lunch. Anything. I got every florist and caterer in Britain breathing down my neck for the contract to do this shindig, and she wants to have Nicky pick wildflowers for her to carry. I tell you, they’re killing me.”

“I’ll talk to them before the meeting.”

…

Stepping into Draco’s mansion, Harry was confronted by a very small, very angry, blonde person.

“I am never speaking to you again, Uncle Harry.”

“You aren’t?”

“NO! Never.”

“Can I ask why not?”

“Because you are a big fat liar, that’s why. And I don’t speak to big fat liars.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow at Hermione who was standing in the hallway behind Nicky. He nodded in understanding when she mouthed the word “Daddy”.

“I see. But, I have to tell you, you are speaking to me right now.”

“Well, duh. I have to tell you that I’m never going to speak to you again or you won’t know that I’m doing it.” She stomped away muttering, “Grown-ups can be so stupid.”

“You told her that Draco is her father?”

“About four hours ago.”

“I see she took it well.”

“Very funny. Come on through, we’re in the back.”

Draco looked up from his papers as Harry walked in. “Not like you to be early, Potter.”

“I’m on a mission. Key asked me to plead his case.”

“What do you get if it works?”

Harry stared at Draco for a moment before replying. “You know, I didn’t even think of that. What do you think I could get?”

It had been a great disappointment to Draco to discover that Harry really was as straightforward and forthright as he seemed. “There’s not an ounce of Slytherin in you, is there, Potter? How do you ever manage to outthink the bad guys with such a simple mind?”

Putting his arm around Hermione’s waist, Harry grinned. “Why do you think I hang around with Hermione so much?”

“Oh, is that why? And here I thought it was my charming personality.” A quick elbow to the ribs punctuated her mock-chagrin.

“Seriously, though. Key’s pretty worked up. Could you throw him a bone?”

“Akio!”

The dapper young man poked his head in the doorway. “You bellowed, oh my lord and master?”

“What’s it going to take to get you to stop harassing our friends?”

Harry grinned happily. He still found it terribly amusing that Draco Malfoy now considered him a friend. The fact that Draco winced every time Harry grinned about it was just the icing on the cake.

“I can be reasonable. You want outdoors, we can do outdoors. I’m picturing a pavilion, covered in flowers, white of course …”

“No white,” Hermione interjected. “I’ve never liked that particular Muggle custom and neither one of us has any interest in pretending virginity.”

“OK, so no white. But flowers, lots of flowers, cascading around the tent. A dance floor, a few musicians, a nice meal, nothing fancy, just three or four courses. Simple.”

Hermione looked at Draco, who shrugged. She pursed her lips for a moment before replying. “We could live with a small pavilion and a simple buffet, but no tables, no dance floor, and no musicians. We’re spreading blankets on the grass and eating picnic-style.”

“What about…”

“No.”

“But…”

“NO!”

Harry looked at Draco. “Any idea what they’re on about?”

“I am not wearing a dress,” Hermione explained.

“It’s your wedding day, Dollface. You’ve made arrangements, you won’t be on call. Just for one day, you should look like a princess.”

“You had your one day at the Valentine’s Day Ball. I have no need to go through that again.”

“What, it didn’t work out for you?”

Hermione hated that smug grin Akio wore when he knew he had scored a point.

“He makes a good point, my love,” Draco interjected. “You can’t really complain about the results.”

Her eyes narrowed. Harry flinched. Draco just smiled.

“What would _you_ like me to wear?” she asked her fiancé.

The smile turned into a grin. With the barest hint of a leer. “Just my ring.”

“WHAT!” Akio shrieked.

“Why not? It would fit in perfectly with the natural setting.” Hermione couldn’t help teasing.

“Boss-man, please, tell me you aren’t going to parade your gorgeous new wife around naked in front all those people.”

“Well,” Draco replied thoughtfully, “we would have to blindfold all the male guests.”

“And some of the women,” Harry added helpfully.

Akio stood and glared at them all. “Fine. I see. You all think I’m just a big joke. Well I happen to care about you people, not that you deserve it, and I want things to be nice. Is that so wrong? Does this make me a terrible person? Because I can go. If you don’t want me around, I’ll go somewhere where I’m appreciated.”

“Sit down, Key. We’re just teasing. If it means that much to you, I will wear a dress, but I have some conditions.”

He settled uneasily into his chair. “What conditions.”

“First, you swear that this is absolutely the last time you will try to get me into a dress.”

“Do I still get to pick out the rest of your clothes?”

“Be my guest, I hate shopping. But you can’t tell me what to wear. You buy them, I choose which ones to put on.”

“That, I can live with. What else?”

“You show me the design ahead of time. Long enough ahead of time that we can change it if I don’t like it. I want something simple and comfortable.” This was, of course, what Hermione had been aiming for all along. She had always planned to wear a dress, but she knew that she would have to fight Akio to be allowed to wear the kind of dress she wanted.

“Simple and comfortable it is. Nothing froufrou or frothy. Is that it?”

“No. There is one more thing. You have to fix Nicky.”

“Oh, no! I’m not the one who broke her. You gotta deal with that one yourselves.”

“But you’re the only one she’s still speaking to.”

“How’d you manage that?” Harry asked.

“Simple. I told her the truth. That I wanted to tell her all along but Boss-man threatened to tie me up and dress me in spandex. Bright green spandex.”

Draco snorted. “That’s what you call the truth?”

“It’s a kind of truth. You did make that threat. OK, so maybe not on that day, or as part of that conversation, but you did. Besides, it made her giggle and no one can stay mad at a person who makes them giggle.”

“Which is why you get to be the one to calm her down and make her get over the little snit fit she’s having now,” Hermione concluded. “She has a right to be upset, but that is no excuse for being rude. Four hours is all the grace she gets; she can start behaving herself or she is going to be in trouble.”

“I’ll give it a try, but first I want to know what you are doing about bridesmaids.”

“I told you, we aren’t having any.” Neither Hermione nor Draco had any female relatives or particularly close female friends, and Hermione simply refused to be fussed about matching up the numbers.

“So what, you’re going to put one of the groomsmen in a dress?”

“Better not be me, unless you want to get yourselves another best man,” Ron offered, walking in just in time to catch Akio’s last suggestion. “You got anything to eat around here? I’m starving.”

“Why don’t you get your mother to teach your wife how to cook? Then you can stop coming here just to eat me out of house and home. Besides, we already have another best man, you poofter,” Draco said.

“Not if you expect me to wear a dress, you don’t!” Harry interjected. “I’m with Ron on this one.”

“Lav’s a perfectly good cook. You want to tell her any different, be my guest. Me, I’d rather keep my bollocks where they are, if it’s all the same.”

“So. We have no dancing, no music, two best men, and no bridesmaids. Will you at least let me do some flowers?” asked Akio.

“Yes, Key,” Hermione replied. “You can do flowers. Just keep it simple.”

“Dollface, you’re the best. I’ll make you proud. In fact, I’m so happy, I’ll go fix the little Nick-knack.” Blowing kisses over his shoulder, Akio pirouetted out of the room.

Ron got up to find himself a cup of tea. “Oi, Malfoy! Where’s the honeybear? What’s the matter, too cheap to buy your girl a little honeybear?”

“I don’t need one.”

“Aw, c’mon Hermione. You got ‘em everywhere. One at my place, one at Harry’s, one at me mum and dad’s. Even Remus’ got one for ya.”

“Not any more. I don’t use them anymore.” In fact, there were quite a few honeybears in the house, they just weren’t used for sweetening tea.

Harry looked at Hermione’s downturned face, noting the blush rapidly creeping down her neck. He looked over at where Draco was smirking a particularly smug, satisfied smirk. _That_ kind of satisfied. The penny dropped. “Let it go, Ron.”

“Wha’?” Ron looked at the three faces before him, the blush, the smirk, and the rolled-back eyes. “S’not like honeybears are sex-toys… Ewww! You don’t! Please, tell me you don’t!” Ron dropped into a chair still shuddering, though it didn’t stop him from stuffing teacakes into his mouth at an alarming rate.

Hermione ignored him. “I think it’s time we got down to business. Reports first, then we can discuss what it all means. Ron, you can go first.”

“We know what Fudge got out of this deal, but I’ve been trying to figure out what the rest of them got, and I gotta tell ya, it wasn’t easy. These blokes were bloody good at coverin’ their tracks. I was getting nowhere till I noticed that they all take their holidays at different times. Not surprising if you’re talking about summer hols, but if you look back a bit, there has never been more than one of them that went away for Christmas hols at the same time. It’s like they have a rotation. I reckon they have a hideaway somewhere that they take turns using.”

“Majorca.”

They all turned to look at Draco.

“You sure about that?” Hermione asked.

“Pretty sure. I’ve been having lunch with that cousin of Fudge’s wife every couple of weeks. We talk business, mostly, but he’s let quite a few things slip. Three Christmases ago, the whole family stayed at Fudge’s holiday home in Majorca. He was pretty impressed. Apparently there’s an entire compound: main house, guest cottages, private beach, hot and cold running servants, including, it seems, some very attractive local girls who provide ‘extras’ for unaccompanied male guests. Told me he’d had his doubts about Fudge before that, thought he was nothing more than a hanger-on, living on his wife’s wealth and connections, but incapable of leveraging his position for real advantage. He reckoned if Fudge had managed to get his hands on a place like that, he must be a real operator.”

“Harry, have you found anything that would fit this hypothesis?”

“Not directly. I trolled through the records on each of our suspects and found nothing remotely suspicious in their financial records. They’re clean as whistles. For men in their positions, that’s suspicious in and of itself. Not a single charge for buying gifts or drinks outside of official expenses. No one is _that_ clean. So I started matching accounts for specific events. A few months ago, for example, there was a delegation visiting from the International Association of Quidditch. I got my hands on the expense accounts for the delegates and the Ministry officials and checked them against the records of the restaurants and clubs they went to. Sure enough, there were quite a few gaping holes, mostly of the illicit kind, but only for the events where either the Minister or the judge attended. They were paying for top-of-the-line wines and high-class whores out of their own pockets, but their bank accounts weren’t showing any effect. They’ve either got secret bank accounts or stacks of Galleons stuffed under their mattresses. So yeah, a secret hideaway would make sense. Somewhere to go and spend their ill-gotten-gains where they won’t be seen.”

“Meanwhile, Key’s got us some good information on Fudge’s family situation,” Hermione said. “He’s actually quite good at this, we might want to think about using him as an occasional operative if you can spare him, Draco.”

“And let him get an even more inflated ego? It is a frightening thought.”

“If it’s going to scare Malfoy, I say go for it,” Ron smirked.

“No one asked you, Weasley.”

“Yeah, well. If you aren’t gonna feed me…”

After a brief glare, Draco gave in and ordered afternoon tea.

Ignoring the interruption, Hermione continued. “He has the most remarkable network of contacts.” She pulled out a multi-page printed document. “Let me see, yes. The hairdresser that both Mrs. Fudge and her sister use, one of her friends’ accountant, the secretary to the solicitor who handles her family’s business, those are the best ones, but there are another half dozen here.”

“Not bad for how long he’s been here. If he’s out making all those friends, sounds to me like he’s not spending much time working for you, Malfoy.”

“Really, Weasley? You know, you do make a good point. Of course, I have ready access to a network of informants that the Head of the Aurors Division envies. Do you really think that doesn’t constitute working for me?”

“Oh. Yeah. Hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“Obviously.”

“As I was saying.” Hermione soldiered on. “Once he accumulated enough information, we went over it together and worked out a strategy. We waited for a day when we knew Mrs. Fudge had an important Ministry function and had her regular hairdresser beg off at the last moment, offering Key as a substitute. He wore a device that let me listen in and talk to him without her hearing. After a few comments on her hair, he told her what a lucky man her husband was to have such a beautiful wife and she started spilling her guts. It really is amazing what women will tell their hairdressers. Apparently, the marriage has been a sham for years. The only reason she has stayed with him this long is that her family would be embarrassed to have her divorce such a public figure. Now that he’s the ex-Minister, she just biding her time for the right moment to cut him loose.”

“What do you reckon, does she hate him enough to kick up a fuss and out the other lot?” Ron mumbled through a mouthful of finger sandwiches.

Carefully avoiding the view of the semi-masticated mess, Hermione replied, “No, I don’t think she does. My sense is that she will be glad to be rid of him. If the second family gives her leverage to force the divorce on him, she’ll take advantage, but she wouldn’t have stayed with him for all these years for the sake of appearances just to cause a scandal now.”

“That’s half the battle, right there,” said Harry. “Now we just need to make sure those kids don’t go hungry after we lock up their father and take away his ill-gotten gains. Do you think the wife’s family will support them to keep the situation hushed up?”

“Hard to tell,” Hermione replied. “What do you think, Draco?”

“I don’t know. My guess is that they will, but I wouldn’t wager my fortune on it.”

“So we still have a problem. Any ideas?” Hermione asked.

“Not so much an idea as a question. Just how far we are willing to go to protect those children?” Draco asked.

“You’re joking, yeah? I mean, I know you like to think you’re above mere feelings, but you can’t seriously want to punish the man’s children,” Ron answered.

“No, I’m serious. Yes, the children are innocent, but how many guilty men do we let off to keep them comfortable? How comfortable do they need to be? At what point is that their mother’s responsibility and not ours? I was all for protecting them when we were talking about the possibility of a serious scandal, but I don’t see how it is up to us to make sure they are raised in the lap of luxury.”

“What about the mother? She hasn’t done anything either,” Harry argued.

“Hasn’t she, Potter? She knowingly entered into a long-term relationship with a married man, brought children into the world depending on his ability to continue to deceive his wife, lived at a house that she knew he had no right to, and has been supported in style from stolen funds. Would it really be such a terrible crime to make her take care of her own children? There are plenty of witches who raise families without husbands. Why should we protect her from the consequences of her choices?”

“You know, he’s not entirely wrong,” Ron conceded.

“No. He isn’t,” Hermione said, chewing on the end of her quill. “Though I wouldn’t be comfortable just turning our backs on them. What if we keep an eye on what happens to them? Between us, we could make sure she can find a decent job, things like that.” Looking around, she found no objections. “So then we are agreed? We go public on the embezzlement and take down the conspirators, but keep tabs on the second family to make sure they can get by?”

The moment of nodding consent was broken by a streak of pink and blonde that hurtled across the room and threw itself into Draco’s lap. “I didn’t mean it. Really, Uncle Draco, I’m sorry. Don’t send me away. You can be my Daddy if you want to.”

It was a slightly confused and much bemused Draco Malfoy who wrapped his arms around his daughter and raised a querying eyebrow in Akio’s direction as his personal assistant came into view. “That’s all right, Nicky. I won’t ever send you away.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Hermione crouched down beside them and stroked their daughter’s hair. “Sweetpea? You know that Uncle Draco really is your daddy, right?”

There was a sniffle as the blonde curly head nodded up and down, still buried in Draco’s shoulder.

“And that your daddy and I both love you very much and want what is best for you?”

Another nod.

“Well then, I have a very important question to ask you. Can you sit up so I can see your face while I ask you?”

It was a tear-streaked little face that lifted up to look at her.

“Your daddy and I are getting married in a few weeks, so we can be together always and be a proper family, but we haven’t been able to find anyone to be our flower girl. Do you think that you could do that for us? To make sure that it’s a proper wedding?”

“I can do that, Mummy. I’m six now, so I can do big girl things.”

“You are Mummy’s very favourite six-year-old in the whole world. Now, you run to the kitchen and ask the elves for a sandwich, and remember to ask nicely and say please and thank you, all right?”

“Yes, Mummy. I will.”

After one more kiss from her new-found daddy, Nicola ran off.

…

With their business settled, the friends relaxed into a discussion of wedding plans, which mostly entailed Harry and Hermione giving Akio and Draco blow-by-blow descriptions of the myriad of thing that went wrong with Ron’s nuptials. Hermione was laughing so hard that it took her a moment to notice that her wand was buzzing. A quick glance confirmed that Harry was being signaled as well. As they sprinted out the door to the nearest Apparition point, Harry shouted back to Ron, “If I’m not back by six, tell Luna.”

“Luna?”

“Yeah. They’ve got a date,” Ron replied.

Pursed lips and a head tilt indicated that Draco was considering the combination. “I can see that working.”

…

“How long do these things take?”

“Different every time. You know, mate, pacing won’t bring her back any quicker.”

“Then tell me what will.” Draco collapsed into an armchair, legs sprawled inelegantly in front of him. “How can you be so calm?”

Having just stuffed yet another biscuit into his mouth, Ron took a moment before answering. “I’d tell ya that you get used to it, but it doesn’ work that way. You just get better at pretending.”

“I want to go after them and help. I want to protect her.”

“You’d just be in the way. They know what they’re doing, they’re good at this.”

“Why aren’t you there? You could have been an Auror.”

“Nah. Had enough of that in the war. Besides, Lav wouldn’t have stood for it.”

Draco snorted. “I don’t see that working with Hermione.”

Crumbs sprayed everywhere as Ron failed to control his chortle. “You ever decide to try it, let me know first.”

“Why, do you want to watch?”

“Hell, no. I want to make sure my family’s a good hundred miles away. Only way you’ll get her out of that job is if you can find one she wants more.”

It was just one little eyebrow and it only moved perhaps a quarter of an inch, but Ron could practically see Draco plotting.

“She’d make a magnificent Minister of Magic.”

“Ye-ah. Only, Shacklebolt just got the job. I don’t see him standing down anytime soon. And she doesn’t have the experience.”

“Not yet. But Shacklebolt hasn’t named a new deputy. She could do a lot of good in that role while she builds experience and positions herself to succeed him.”

“That could work for Hermione, but it wouldn’t be too good for you.”

“Why is that?”

“You’d have a Minister of Magic you couldn’t manipulate.”

“True.”

“So, how you gonna work it?”

Draco shrugged. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

…

“Where is she? The wedding is in less than two hours and I don’t have a bride! This has disaster written all over it.”

“Calm down, Key. She’s just doing a last security sweep. She’ll be here in plenty of time for the ceremony.”

“Time for the ceremony? What about her hair? Her makeup? I’m going to need at least thirty minutes with relaxant potions to get rid of that little forehead crease she always gets when she’s working. This is the most important day of her life, she has to look the part. Why doesn’t she understand that?”

“I rather think she’s more concerned that we get through the ceremony without serious disruptions. Besides, it’s her last act as an Auror. After today, she’s consigned to a desk for all of eternity. Let her enjoy her last hurrah.”

Akio’s glare of death was truly astounding in its utter lack of effect. “I can’t imagine what she sees in you. Don’t you even care that she look her best when you marry her?”

“No.”

“Really? Can you look me in the eye and honestly tell me that it doesn’t matter to you that you have a gorgeous bride.”

Draco stood and walked over to Akio. “I. Don’t. Care. As long as she ends this day as my wife, I could not possibly care less how she looks. I do, however, care very much how she feels about it all. If spending the next eight hours triple-checking the security arrangements will make her feel safer and keep out the undesirables, then I will happily put off the ceremony until the afternoon. Or tomorrow. Or however long it takes to make this work for her. Is that clear?”

“Fine. But I fail to see how letting in a few, carefully selected reporters would ruin everything. The press is clamoring for photos. I’ve been positively besieged with requests for invitations. Half the catering staff turned out to be ringers. If you’d just let…”

“No. No reporters. No publicity. Just me and Hermione and our friends. Creevey will take all the pictures we want and the rest of the world can stuff it.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Glory hound.”

They could have happily traded insults for hours, but the bride chose that moment to make her appearance. “There were two different teams of journalists hiding out in the Forbidden Forest. I don’t think they would have been able to get any shots through the veiling spells, but we’ve got permission from the centaurs to extend the wards another couple of hundred yards just in case. The merpeople tell us the lake is clear and Harry’s got a team up on brooms sweeping the airspace. So we’re all set, and with over an hour to spare for making me beautiful. Happy?”

Akio favoured her with a less lethally intentioned glare. “One hour? That is all you’re giving me to work with? Not to mention prancing around in front of the groom on your wedding day. I swear, you are going to drive me to an early grave.”

“Not possible, Key. Haven’t you heard? Only the good die young.”

“Well, then. I guess I’m safe. Come on, Dollface. We’ve got a lot of work to do.” He looked over his shoulder at Draco as he ushered Hermione away. “I leave you to the tender mercies of the second-best man.”

“Oi! How come I’m second best? ‘M as good as Harry any day!”

“Of course you are. That’s why he’s the one who is checking security while you’re here with me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m bloody well not giving you any pointers on shagging my best friend.”

Draco’s eyes did their very best to roll out of his head. “Heavens be thanked for small mercies. The last thing I need is images of you and Lavender in my head. I’d prefer to actually be able to perform as a husband.”

“So what are we s’posed to do?”

“Really, Weasley. Did you miss all those stories about your own wedding? You are supposed to distract me so I don’t get nervous and abandon my bride at the altar.”

“Is that why the twins turned my hair lavender? I thought they were just bein’ gits. Anyway, you don’t have an altar, just that archy thing, and the security’s tighter than McGonagall’s arse, you’d never make it out of here.”

“True. But you are still utterly crap at being a distraction. I might have to demote you to third-best man.”

“Nah, I’ve got a good one. Tell me how you got Shacklebolt to give Hermione the deputy spot.”

Draco grinned. “I’ll need your oath of secrecy for that.”

“Done.”

Manipulating the new Minister of Magic had not been difficult, given that Hermione and Harry had already done the research. Draco had just been the only one to notice that the erstwhile Head of the Aurors Division had failed to thoroughly investigate the embezzlement charges against Dolores Umbridge. While it had been well within Hermione’s rights to assuage Fudge’s fears on the matter to prevent a public scene, there was no real excuse for the division head to have ignored the matter. The decision to replace Umbridge as deputy with Shacklebolt meant that, when Fudge retired, Kingsley conveniently became Minister of Magic. Putting those facts together, it was obvious that there had been a deal. All it took was the suggestion that the public might find that information somewhat interesting and Draco was positioned to make polite suggestions on personnel movements.

“Bloody hell. How come you saw that and the rest of us didn’t?”

“Because I think politically. Hermione is so used to focusing on criminal activity that she failed to broaden the scope of her attention to the political implications. A few years as deputy to the Minister of Magic will cure that.”

“Not to mention a devious operator for a husband. Blimey. The two of you really are going to take over the ministry, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be foolish. I have no interest in entering politics. My role will be nothing more than a … supportive husband.”

…

Despite Akio’s fussing, Hermione really did look quite lovely. Her peach coloured frock was more of a sun-dress than a gown, but it matched the rose-buds he’d placed in her upswept hair as well as Draco’s collarless shirt, and her cream-coloured flats were the same colour as Draco’s linen trousers. They were elegant without looking formal or uncomfortable. Hermione and Draco stood under an arch of peach roses to exchange their vows and then took a spin on the dance floor she had allowed Akio to talk her into before the Hogwarts house-elves filled the buffet with finger-food from one of wizarding London’s finest caterers and began floating around trays of vintage champagne. There was dancing and mingling in the pavilion, with the conversation focusing on the latest details of the bribery scandal that was dominating the news of the day. Then the bride and groom filled their plates and led the wedding party to the dozen cream-coloured blankets arrayed in a cluster by the shore of the lake to settle down for serious eating while the children frolicked on the grass.

“So, where’re all your society friends?” Ron had promised Lavender that he would make sure to swallow before speaking, but she hadn’t said anything about not taunting Draco.

“Like who?”

“You know. All those fancy purebloods you always hung out with.”

“Seriously, Weasley. Who exactly do you imagine that I would still have as friends? The families we associated with before are all gone, either dead or in Azkaban. Anyone left has spent the last few years shunning me for fear of guilt by association. Some of them are trying to get in my good graces now, but I wouldn’t exactly call them friends.”

Ron had the good grace to at least look moderately uncomfortable. “So, you mean, we’re all you’ve got?”

“Depressing, isn’t it.”

“Only for you.” His graciousness could only last so long. “Is that why you didn’t go for a big, fancy do?”

“Maybe in part. You know, you spend a few years in a Muggle prison and you tend to rethink your priorities. It’s highly educational, you should really try it.”

“Thanks, anyway, mate. I’ll take your word for it.”

…

“It’s been a long day,” Hermione said.

“Mmm. I hope you aren’t too tired.”

“That depends what you had in mind.”

“Nothing too strenuous. I just want to make long, slow, tender love to my wife.”

“That sounds perfect… for tonight.”

“And for other nights?”

 

“Well, now that I won’t be having quite as adventurous a professional life, I am going to have to find some other way to get my adrenaline kicks.”

Draco grinned. “I think I’m going to enjoy being married to the Deputy Minister of Magic.”


End file.
